


Lettie

by Constantine00



Series: Generations [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1860s, Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, British Slang, Brothels, Crossdressing, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Gambling, Gangsters, London, Multi, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Prostitution, Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Romance, Swearing, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constantine00/pseuds/Constantine00
Summary: This is the story of Lettie Thompson, a working class girl in the Industrial and Victorian era. (Not a great summary but I'll change it when I can think of something better. The title may also change).





	1. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduction.  
> The industrial revolution lasted from 1760 right up to 1870. Within this time new and revolutionary machinery was created. These machines, in turn, created industrial titan cities. Though these slightly monstrous creations made leaps and bounds in altering and developing the world while achieving such positive effects as population growth, economic growth and increase in employment, they also created a rise in pollution levels, death rates and much more. And it was not just the machines fault, it was the people who were pulling their strings, fault also. These people introduced child labour, long work hours, horrific pay, and many more terrible things, to England. Along with the creation of gangs, fight clubs and other criminal activity made London an especially dangerous place to be in.
> 
> (Some dialogue is in French and Irish, I know/speak both languages, but I'm not an expert in either, so hopefully I have represented them both properly here).  
> Thank you and enjoy.

"Colette Elizabeth Thompson!" Lettie heard her heavily accented French mother call from downstairs. "Get up right now! You are going to be late for work!"

Lettie groaned and opened her eyes, slowly rolling onto her back in the old battered bed. She looked through the practically transparent curtains on the window above the bed on the left wall. It looked like it was just after sunrise. _Bloody hell!_. They would have to get ready _very_ quickly this morning.

Her eyes drifted from the window to her sister who was curled up beside her. Just one? Where was the other?

 _Probably slept in mother's bed last night_.

Her youngest sister often did that as she was particularly attached to her.

As this thought dissolved in her head, she shook her other sister's shoulder before she got out of the bed, "Ana, get up we have to go to work." "No," Ana yawned, snuggling into the thick woolen blanket on the bed.

  
Lettie, after dressing, pulled the covers off her as a last stitch effort to rouse her. "Get up! You do not want to upset mummy, do you?"

Ana, at the mention of their mother, shot up and practically jumped out of the bed, instantly beginning to dress.

  
In the corner of the bedroom was a small washbasin and mirror, that was where Lettie was currently stood trying desperately to comb her unruly brunette hair into something manageable.

She winced as she pulled the brush through her hair one last time. Finally it settled down and she was able to put it into a neat bun. "Colette!" She heard her mother call again, "your sisters are ready! Hurry up! You'll be fined!" The girl placed the hairbrush down and grabbed her shawl, draping it over her shoulders. "Prêt! (ready!)."

  
"Your father has already gone ahead," Marie Thompson said, handing her two youngest children over to Lettie. She placed a hand on her large pregnant stomach and looked down at the two girls that Lettie was holding on to.

"Now Ida," she said to the girl to her right, "be on your best behaviour, work hard and no talking back to the masters."

The seven year old, wide eyed, girl nodded, absorbing her mother's warning, "yes, mummy." Marie smiled, "good." She then looked at Ana, "that goes for you too, Anabella."

The five year old nodded, "yea, mama." Lastly she looked to Lettie, "look after your sisters, Colette."

"Yes, mother," she replied directing the two girls towards the front door.

 

  
Lettie dragged the reluctant and whining girls along with her as she jogged down the alleyways towards their workplace. Their light footsteps making little noise as they stepped into shallow puddles of water. "Ana! Ida! Hurry up!" she cried in desperation. They could _not_ be late under any circumstances.

Looking up, she saw the towering industrial monstrosity of a building ahead. Thick plumes of dark grey smoke drifted lazily out of the two massive slim towers. The yellowish red rising sun just about peeked out between them. Almost daring her to be late. "I don't want to go!" Ana whined as she also looked at the building, gripping her older sister's hand. Her young eyes filling with fear. She stopped and started to pull Lettie back, "I don't want to go! I want to go home!"

Lettie huffed angrily "stop acting like a child!" She scooped her up, gripped Ida's hand and sprinted down the dingy alleyway.

 

Lettie pushed her sisters into the large off brown brick workhouse. The building consisted of four massive floors. Each floor held three or four large spinning machines. A staircase was situated to their right as they entered the building. (There was also another one on the other side of the room). They ran all the way up to the fourth floor. The roof was a long rectangular shape, made out of glass panes. The glass was to allow sunshine to come in so they could see what they were doing. At night the lanterns, beside the spinning machines, were lit so they could continue to do their work. Two large double doors at either end of the factory were sometimes opened to allow air to circulate. This was not for their benefit, no God forbid they have fresh air. It was more for the master's benefit.

Speaking of which, the factory was owned by Master Orville Crook and primarily ran by his two sons. His two horrible sons. Disgusting men, Lettie regarded them as. They would beat the children who worked here just because they could. Usually they would say the picked on child was breaking one of the rules.

These rules were to be followed by the word. The list of unfair rules was pinned to the factory's entrance doors and many more copies were plastered throughout the building. This list gave them the right to do the horrible beatings. She knew this first hand. One time she had talked back to one of the brothers for slapping her friend.

She was caned for that.

She could not sit down for two days after that. Her mother said it was her fault for talking back to him. Her father added a few more lashes to her back for being fined.

"Over there," she muttered to her sister, breaking herself out of her thoughts, as she directed them to the closest staircase.

  
After dropping her sisters on the third floor, and being told by one of the monitors that she could not stay with her siblings, she ascended to the fourth floor and began her days work, ignoring the thoughts of worry. Fortunately, or unfortunately, a distraction was just approaching her that very moment.

"Ah..." The all too familiar and sickly sweet voice of Timothy Crook cooed from behind her not soon after she began her work, "Miss Thompson."

She glanced at the tall blonde man standing to her side. He had his usual disgusting grin on his face. It was a shame really, he would have been handsome if not for it. "How are you?"

"Fine, sir," she answered quietly, turning her attention back to her work. Her mother warned her against speaking out. She could not afford to be fined again.

"Master. Not sir," he corrected her swiftly.

"Sorry, master."

"Yes," he purred. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he ran his fingers down the curved vertical bone. "I like when you call me that."

She did not respond, but rather continued with her work. Trying her best not to move away from him. As much as she wanted to, she could not.

"I heard your sisters are starting here today. What are they like? Are they disobedient little girls like you?"

She frowned at this as her mind quickly clouded with anger. How could he talk about them like that?! Just because they were her sisters did not mean they shared the shame rebel trait as her.

Before she knew what she was doing she had turned around, pushed him back and shouted at the stunned man. "You keep away from them!" There was no possible way she would let him hurt them like he hurt her. They were children. Babies even. She would not let him abuse and traumatise them. Not like he did, and does, to her.

Recovering from an unexpected sense of shock quickly, Timothy raised an eyebrow at her outburst, greatly amused, and impressed, at her defensive tone. "Excuse me? Did you just talk back to your master?"

He smiled as her face fell.

"No si-- Master," she mumbled obediently. What has she done? She was bound to be fined again.

 _"Do not get fined again!"_ Her mother's warning rang in her head.

"I am not certain about that. Maybe I should cane your sisters as punishment," he continued, watching with delight as her face fell further and her shoulders dropped. Her defensive stand was quickly dissolving.

"No, master please! They are only little!" she protested.

"Then I must punish you." He replied simply, but terrifyingly, with a shrug of his broad shoulders.  
  
Lettie, resisting the urge to sob, and ignoring the phantom pain on her backside from last week's lashing, she whispered, "promise not to harm my sisters?"

"You do not get to ask me for promises, Miss Thompson."

"Then punish me how you will," she answered in a controlled voice whilst looking up at the grinning tyrant.

"Good girl."

 

 

"Again!" Lettie's mother cried, placing a dish in front of her sisters, who were sat at the kitchen table.

"I am sorry, mother. He was going to hurt Ana and Ida. I had to take the punishment." Lettie tried to explain to her furious mother.

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU GOT PUNISHED. I CARE THAT YOUR WAGE WAS DOCKED AGAIN!"

The brunette looked to her sisters for help. They were completely ignoring the fight, happily eating their meal of stale bread and butter quietly. _Really, Lettie?_ What defence did she expect from a seven year old and a five year old, who absolutely worshipped the ground their mother walked on?

"FILLE STUPIDE! (Stupid girl!)" Marie yelled, reaching forward and slapping her.

Lettie recoiled in horror, pressing a shaking hand to her cheek as it began to sting. She swallowed, subsequently suppressing the tears that were threatening to appear. She could not retort as that would surely end with more abuse. Anyways, she would not dare strike her pregnant mother. Her father would _literally_ kill her. He was hoping for a boy, because, aside from the obvious bond he would have with another male, they earned more than girls. Her father's prejudices cut her deeply when she first found them out. She had accidentally overheard her parents speaking about it one night. The same night, when she returned to bed, she could not help but think that herself and her siblings were merely seen as a way of making money in her parents' eyes, and what upset her further was that they possibly hated them because of their under disadvantaged gender.

Marie pointed to the front door, "got to the market and get us a loaf of bread, eggs, cheese and a pint of milk." She handed Lettie the little money they had and a weaved straw basket. "Go on!"

 

 

"Three pennies, please darlin," the salesman said, holding his grubby hand out expectantly. Lettie handed him the coins and took the nicest looking loaf of the bad batch on the table, "thank you, sir." She turned away from the stall and made her way over to another one. Searching for the requested eggs.

As she made her way towards a particular stall she heard someone call out her name from behind her. She spun around to see a slim short red head girl smiling brightly at her. "Mab," Lettie greeted her best friend, Mabel Reid. The redhead also looked like she was shopping for her family as she was holding a similar weaved basket to her, "you haven't happened to see the eggs, have you?"

 

  
"Yes, sounds like a nice boy," Lettie mumbled, uninterested in her companion's talk about some boy called Oliver that she was infatuated with lately. He apparently worked as a chimney sweep advertiser, and was _"handsome"_ and _"funny"_.

"What about you, eh?" Mabel asked, nudging her best friend's shoulder teasingly.

The brunette shrugged. There were no boys where she worked and she was not very social. She had a family to worry about, not some boy.

"Nobody?"

"I don't have time for boys. They just get in the way. I have a family to look after."

Mabel rolled her eyes at this, "ugh! I have to find you someone!"

"No thank you. I'm perfectly fine by myself."

"Fine. You'll find someone someday, I suppose."

"Hmm," she mumbled as her constantly drifting eyes landing on two young men across the road from them. They wearing dark red trousers and sharing a bottle of what looked like Port.

 _Reds_.

That was the group that ran Lambeth. Her father was one. He went to their fight club in the abandoned workhouse down the road from where they lived often to drink with his friends and bet on the fights. She had never seen him in the infamous red trousers though. Maybe her mother forbid them.

Every borough of London had a criminal group running them according to her father. Though Lettie largely doubted it, despite all the stories he told her.

According to him, Lambeth had Robert Redding's group nicknamed 'Reds' for their red trousers and because of their leader. Southwark had Clemente Green. Who's gang wore green shirts. They were nicknamed Greens. _Very creative..._

Whitechapel had a group called 'The Locks'. She did not know much about them. They, apparently, did not have any type of distinguishing clothing. Though she had heard rumours that they wore brass knuckles, supposedly that was the only way to identify them, (she dread to think what their fight clubs must be like with such weaponry). Really, they did not actually have a nickname, people just called them the name Locks as their leader, whoever that was, did not give them one. Her father had told her terrifying stories about them. They were so haunting that she had countless nightmares about them in her late childhood and early teen-hood. Even now she had the odd bad dream.

She had never seen a rival gang's member because the leaders forbid them from stepping on each other leader's territory. This was to avoid civil war.

Much like Whitechapel, she had no idea who ran Westminster, the Strand or the City boroughs. She was not even sure such posh places would have any gangs, now that she thought about it.

"Olly says he'll take me over to the city to see the sights!"

This caught Lettie's attention, she looked at her best friend. Still sensing the men watching them.

She relaxed when she remembered what her father had told her.

_"They're watching over their people. Keeping their territory safe."_

"Really? Bring me back something?" The seventeen old asked her friend.

"A boy," she grinned.

"I was thinking more like food. Nice food. Posh food."

Mabel laughed, "you wouldn't want a nice posh boy?"

"No."

"Oh... Okay."

"Sorry...not all men are horrible, I'm sure Oliver is lovely."

"He really is," she said dreamily, twirling around and giggling excitedly. She was very much in love, Lettie noted. It was strange to see someone in love. Lovers seemed so joyful and optimistic. Like nothing in the world can stop them.

She smiled as Mabel continued to twirl down the cobbled street. Hopefully this Oliver and her remained together for awhile. Who knows, maybe they would stay together forever. Well they would if her parents had anything to do with it. God forbid she, as a seventeen year old girl, got pregnant in a Catholic Irish home. The minute her mother found out, which would be within forty eight hours because mothers also seemed to know that sort of thing straight away, they would be married within the week. She could even remember a time when her own mother knew a neighbour of there's was in the early stage of pregnancy by just glancing at her one day whilst out in the market. She often wondered if her mother would be able to tell if she was pregnant before she even knew herself or if she would gain this skill. This was unlikely because she was terrified of giving birth.

  
"What is it like?"

"Huh?" The redhead asked, moving back to Lettie's side.

"What is it like to...be in love?"

Good lord, she felt stupid for asking.

"Extraordinary! Oh Lettie! It's like waking up from a long long sleep!"

"Pardon?"

"It...it's just amazing! I can not wait for you two to meet."

Lettie nodded silently as they neared their neighbourhood.

  
Lettie poured the jug of luke warm water over her head. Today was Saturday. Wash day. Every Saturday evening, families would bath, wash and iron their best clothes for Sunday mass. Being Catholics and Irish, which was the minority in their neighborhood, they went to a small run down church down the road from where they lived.

They lived in a small neighbourhood, which consisted of ten houses. It was located between two train tracks that ran on bridges above them. Across the road was Lambeth palace and on the other side of that was the wooden dock she had sat on earlier.

_Lettie looked across the Thames, at Westminster, from where she was sat on Lambeth port. The sun was setting slowly, creating a picturesque image on the filthy water below._

_Looking up from the water to the blurry horizon ahead of her, she wondered what life was like over there. She had never left Lambeth. Never seen what life was like outside her home borough. She could not. She had a pregnant mother, two younger sisters, a drunkard father and, not to forget, a new sibling arriving in a few short month, to look after. And now with her mother deciding her sisters should start working at the cotton mill with her, she had that to worry about now too. She was mostly worried about this because they were so young. From experience, as she has started at age six, she knew how scarring the work could be. She, on her first day, witnessed another girl get her finger chopped off by the very machine she was working at. Somehow something even more traumatising happened to her that day too. Her second, and thankfully final, trauma of that day came in the form of a sadistic eleven year old blond boy called Timothy, who spent the whole day teasing her and pulling her hair whilst she tried to work. Yes, he had been abusing her since her first day in that hell. And unfortunately that teasing only grew worse as they aged and as he began to realise how much power he held._

_Once again her attention and gaze was drawn to the horizon. She had heard about the lives they lived. Posh people. She had seen some of the posh women doing missionary work around here recently. Giving food to mothers and children. They cooed over her fellow paupers as they took the offered food warily. She knew they meant well but they were quite odd. She remembered, as a child, being mesmerised by their fancy frocks. Silk. That is what they call it, she thought. Looked soft and warm. Unlike her stiff woolen shawl and cotton calico skirt._

_They were beautiful too. The first time she saw them, at the age of four, she thought they were angels. Gorgeous, tall, lean, golden haired and blue eyed angels. Angels sent here to save them. But she quickly realised that they just gave out food and clothes and then disappeared back over the bridge to heaven until the next charitable event emerged. They would then reappear, bearing gifts. Though she was grateful for them, she also loathed them. Particularly because of their beauty. She partly hated herself for not looking like them._

_She was not tall but not short either. Average, her mother said. And unlike the posh ladies with their golden hair, she had unruly wild brunette hair which every morning she would have to wrestle into a neat bun. Physique wise, she had a curved figure but because of malnourishment, her figure had not filled out. And at the ripe old age seventeen, she was already gaining the cough._

_The cough being the nickname for the violent coughing most of the girls who worked at the mill experienced. They did not know what caused it. It just happened._

That was after she had talked to Mabel.

When the redhead went off to go see Oliver, Lettie took the opportunity to spent some alone time on the docks.

Her favourite place in the world.

Though, saying that, she had never actually been out of London, nevermind England. She had always wanted to go to America. She had heard about how spectacular it was over there. The parties they had were supposedly astonishing. The clothes they wore would put the British angels to shame. And definitely shock them. She had heard the girls there wore brightly coloured dresses. Blue, red, purple, you name it, they wore it. It amazed her.

Though the dresses the posh women wore here were beautiful, they were rather drab and boring as they were mainly dark colours. She herself wore only browns, blacks and greys. She tried to avoid wearing white because of the pea soupers (thick fog and smoke that stained clothes).

  
Lettie placed the jug down and pulled herself out of the metal tub. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around her rapidly cooling body as the memory faded.

She dried herself off quickly, dressed and dragged the tub out into the dingy enclosed back garden. She managed to heave the large heavy tub on to its side to empty the dirty water out onto the marshy terrain. As she was the last to bathe, her sister had went before her, she had to dispose of the dirty water.

  
"Colette. Viens ici (come here). Il faut qu'on parle (we need to talk)," her mother called from the main room as Lettie was lugging the tub into the back garden's shabby shed.

"Yes, mother! Just putting the tub away!" she called back from the wearisome grey garden.

"Se dépêcher! (Hurry!). Votre père est à la maison! (Your father is home!)"

Lettie sighed as she pushed the tub into the corner of the shed. She was not in the mood to see her father as he was probably intoxicated and angry, which he always was. And she particularly was not in the mood for a verbal assault or punishment.

  
"Yes?" Lettie asked, entering the small front room. Her parents were sat in the dimly lit room. Her mother pointed to the fireplace not lifting her gaze from her knitting, "mets du charbon sur le feu, veux-tu Colette? (Put some more coal on the fire, will you Colette?)."

"Yes mother," she obeyed, falling to her knees beside the fireplace and preforming the task.

Marie rarely ever spoke English especially when Lettie's father was around. She spoke English to her two youngest daughters but had taught her eldest daughter French so she had someone to converse with in her native language.

"Stop speaking that shit," John, Lettie's father, growled in his thick Irish brogue. He hated it when his wife spoke French. Why must she? They were in England not France, for Christ sake.

"Colette," Marie said in English begrudgingly, "no more taking back to the masters. We can not afford for you to be talking out of place. We'll end up in the workhouse."

 _Workhouse_.

That word created a pit of fear in Lettie's stomach. The workhouses were, obviously, places where people lived and worked. They were mainly for the homeless, the diseased, and former prisoners. People who had nothing or no one. She knew a few friends and their families who ended up in the dreaded places. They had made no contact with her. She had no idea if they were dead or alive. Probably, and sadly, it was the former. She tried not to think of it much as it upset her dearly.

"We are barely able to pay the rent and get food for the family already. We don't need you losing us more money."

"Je suis désolé (I am sorry), mother."

"Est-ce que je comprends, Colette? (Am I understood, Colette?)."

She nodded.

"Répondez correctement (answer correctly)."

"Qui, mère (yes, mother)."

"Colette," her father suddenly perked up.

She looked to him, extremely surprised. He rarely spoke to her. The only interactions they usually had was when he was beating her. And even then they both would usually remain silent.

"Beidh mé a mharú má fhaigheann tú gearradh fíneáil arís. Ceart go leor? (I will kill you if you get fined again. Alright?)" he warned her in Irish.

Lettie felt her blood run cold. Her father had never directly threatened her with death before. And the look in his eyes showed her that he meant it. "Y-Yes, father," she muttered "I will not."

John shared a look with Marie, a look that explained what they had just said, as she did not speak Irish, before looking back at Lettie.

Marie looked at their daughter too.

The girl kept her eyes on her father, not wanting to see what her emotion mother's face portrayed.

"Good," he simple said before looking back at the fire.

"Vous pouvez aller au lit maintenant. Bonne nuit (you can go to bed now. Goodnight)."

She stood up and dusted off her nightgown, "goodnight."

 

The next morning, before Mass, Lettie and Mabel were loitering on the port, waiting for their families to get ready. Well, they were mainly waiting for Mabel's family to get ready as she had six younger siblings.

Lettie dropped the peddle, she was holding, into the water and watched it sink into the dirtiness. Into the depths of the Thames.

"I can't wait to go to the city!" Mabel squealed, catching her friend's attention.

Lettie looked at her, "when are you going?"

"Soon. Maybe next week, Oliver said."

"I hope you enjoy your time there..." she muttered, returning her gaze to the water.

"Are you alright, Lettie?" she asked, eyeing her friend worriedly. She was strangely, and unnervingly, quiet this morning.

"Yes...I was thinking about something actually."

"What"

The brunette looked around, making sure there was nobody of note near. Fortunately, there was only a few workers loading things on and off boats, who happened to be out of earshot. Not that they would be interested anyways. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw there was nobody on the mud road behind them, just a few farm animals.

Satisfied that there was no one listening in, she looked back at her now concerned friend.

"I'm thinking of trying to get a job."

"...But you have a job."

"A proper job, Mab."

"Like what?"

She looked at the water and sighed. Mabel, bless her, could be quite dense sometimes. "A nurse, maybe. What else could I possibly do? I will have to leave the mill soon. I'm nearly eighteen."

"You just turned seventeen. You have a year. Relax."

"I want to get out of there, Mabel. I [/want/] to be a nurse. I [/want/] to help people. I'm good at looking after people."

"I know you do, and I know you are..."

"Ok, so what do you want to do?" she asked rather sharply.

She shrugged, "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. I just assumed that I will stay at home while my husband goes out to work. Look after the babies, you know."

Lettie pursed her lips, ordering herself not to argue.

She despised the idea of being a housewife. The thought of lounging around a house by herself all day made her feel sick. Why should she have to bear her husband's children and then take care of them full-time and look after his home while he is allowed to work? It was not fair. She was just as capable as any man. Though, of course, she would never speak of her inner thoughts because she would get into trouble. She would have to remain quiet and obedient, like every other woman. Her mother had made sure of that. In fact, she had to beat that lesson into her, many a time.

That was until she would leave home. Which she was planning to do soon. She was hoping to go to the local newsagents and check the job advertisements later today. Though she may not get to because her mother and sisters would probably need her help at home.

Family. That was the only holding her back from fleeing. As much as she loved her family, they did get on her nerves. She knew they could not survive without her, her parents would never admit that of course.

Her father was a drunkard, gambler and brawler. The money he received from work, which was very little, he would spend on drink or gambling. It was only Lettie's and her sister's wages which would buy their food and pay the rent. More than half went to the rent. This concerned Lettie greatly. She remembered a family who used to live in their little festering neighbourhood. They could not sustain themselves on the little money they had because they had to give most of their earnings to the landlord to pay their rent. The family supposedly wasted away. Their bodies were not found for weeks apparently.

_"Too many in that family!" Lettie heard her mother say to her father, barely five minutes after a neighbour popped around and told them about this horrific find. (She was ten at the time but she could still remember it clear as day)._

_"How many children they have?" Her father asked, cocking a curious eyebrow._

_"Ten!" Her mother cried in shock, "it is madness! How did Theresa expect them to live? She was pregnant at the time too! An eleventh child was soon to arrive in that four person home. Madness!"_

_"Surely they had enough money? I mean with the amount of children they had."_

_"Chris, her husband, worked. So did four of her daughters and three of her sons. But it was not enough, unfortunately," she sighed, placing the folded blanket onto the clean clothes pile. "That poor woman. The landlord put the rent up because there were so many of them. Two shillings per child. Can you imagine?! It's awful!"_

_"We need to have a boy," John said quite randomly._

_"Pardon?"_

_"Boys get more pay than girls, Marie. We need a boy, not another fucking girl." He was referring to Ida's recent birth._

_"The sex of our children is in God's hands, John."_

_"Well then I hope God takes pity on us! And gives us a child that'll actually earn us some proper money!"_

  
"Lettie!"

"Yes," Lettie answered, looking at her friend. She had become distracted by her thoughts again.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"No...sorry, I was just thinking about something..."

Mabel, growing concerned by the second, nodded. "Alright, well we better be heading to church. Mam just called for us."

"Yes."

 

"Amen," The congregation said in unison.

"Lettie!" A voice whispered from behind her.

Lettie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes landing on her grinning best friend. "Yes?" She ignored the jab in her side from Marie and continued to smile at Mabel.

The redhead smiled back at her and pointed at the meek looking blond boy beside her, "this is Oliver."

Lettie nodded to him, "hello, Oliver. How are you?"

He smiled a small smile and responded likewise in a hushed tone.

Lettie raised an eyebrow. He was a strange one, that was certain. What confused her the most was that Oliver did not really seem to be Mabel's type. They were the complete opposite. She was out going and lively. He, from what she could tell so far, was quiet and reserved. Maybe he was different when they were alone. Saying that, the one thing she knew for sure was that Mabel was happy.

  
After the Mass, Lettie was waiting outside the chapel, with Mabel and Oliver, for her family to exit. It would probably another five minutes or so because her mother was very religious and liked to say a few prayers after the proceedings.

"How is work going, Oliver?" Lettie asked as herself, Oliver and Mabel sat outside the church on a bench.

"Very well, thank you for asking, Lettie."

She nodded and looked down at her hands, distracting herself from the awkward atmosphere which surrounded them. He was not the easiest person to have a conversation with...

Mabel cleared her throat and placed her hand over Oliver's. "I was just telling Lettie about how we're going to the city soon."

"Yes," he replied.

 _"Colette!"_ Lettie heard her mother call from behind her. She stood up, slightly relieved about getting away from the couple, and nodded to her mother, indicating she would be right over. The awkwardness was making her uneasy. She said goodbye to them and walked over to her awaiting family.

  
"Qui est-ce? (Who is that?)" Her mother asked as she reached her side. Marie was eyeing Oliver curiously.

"Le petit ami de Mabel (Mabel's boyfriend)."

She nodded and began to walk down the narrow path, which lead up to and from, the small church. "What does he do?" she asked in English as she heard a grunt of disgust from her husband, who was lunging her two youngest daughters down the path behind them.

"Chimney sweep advertiser."

"I did not know they still existed. I thought they were bringing in a law against that folie (madness)."

"They may be."

"Have you met any boys?"

"Mother..."

"Colette, you are nearing courting age. I'm just curious."

"The answer is no, mother."

"What about that beau jeune (respectable young man), Harold?"

Harold O'Toole was her neighbour and fellow church goer. He was a year older than her and was planning to become a priest. A kind and gentle boy. He was perfect for that role. Oh and he was not interested in girls. At all. Harold had come to her confessing his sins, afraid of going to church to confess to the priest. Afraid of punishment for his unspoken interests. He liked boys, he admitted to her a mere two years ago. She was shocked at this revelation but comforted him wholeheartedly. They become close after that. She would help him face his fears and embrace his uniqueness. He questioned her one day, asking how she was not disgusted at this heathenistic behaviour. She shrugged simply saying [/"you love who you love"/].

"No, mother, I do not think we are suited to each other."

 

  
Lettie weaved the thread through the machine, her mind wondering aimlessly as she did so. Another day of boredom. Being stuck in this stuffy building was really getting on her nerves. She coughed discretely into her dress sleeve before sighing. The cough was getting worse. She felt like she was being suffocated by the air around her. This scared her but she pushed it in to the back of her mind. There was no need worrying about it at this moment, she was busy. This work was not going to do itself.

"Boss wants to see ya," a voice said from her left.

She glanced in said direction and eyed the grubby little eight year old standing there, "which boss?"

The girl shrugged and disappeared off behind the machine she was working at.

"Thank you for the detailed answer," Lettie mumbled jokingly under her breath as she turned and walked towards the office across the large room.

  
Lettie stood outside her employer's office, working up the courage to enter. The door was closed. That was very strange. It was rarely ever closed. In fact it was only shut when there was an important visitor.

When the employers would punish a child the door would be open so all the other children on the floors below could hear them screaming. It was a fear tactic and it worked perfectly.

She knocked on the door as a thought hit her...

The door was also only ever closed when she was being punished... That was unsettling.

"Enter."

It was Timothy Crook's voice.

What was it this time? What had she done? Would she be punished?

She gingerly opened the door and stepped in.

"Miss Thompson," his sly voice purred. Her eyes found him. He was sat behind the large polished mahogany desk, that she had grown to hate, smiling brightly at her. This unnerved her. He looked her up and down before ushering for her to come forward. "Come in and close the door."

She did as she was told and stepped forward cautiously. "Master?"

"How would you like to earn some extra money for your family? I know you need it."

"I am not certain, Master," she answered truthfully. She really was not.

"I have not even told you how you would get the money yet."

"Will you tell me, please?"

"Of course!" He stood up and rounded the desk, "I want you to be my secretary."

Lettie stood frozen to the spot. His secretary? That was a massive promotion. Which would definitely come with a generous boost to her wage. How could she say no? Her parents would kill her if she did not take the job. But then again, she did not want to be directly working for him. She did not really have a choice though... She had to take this job. For her family's benefit.

"Do you know what a secretary is?"

"Yes, Master."

He smiled, "good girl, so what is your answer?"

"I--I am not certain."

"Pardon? I am giving you a wonderful opportunity here. You get to get away from the machines and those stuffy floors, [/and/] you get a larger wage. What is there not to like?"

"Master, I--" she stuttered.

"Answer the question," he snarled, growing bored of her uncertainty. "Think about your family."

Terrified out of her mind, she nodded meekly.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good girl! Now how about I give you a little tour of the office, eh? Would you like that?"

"Yes please," she answered quietly. Had she really just accepted? What had she gotten herself into?

 

"Will I be working with the machines also?" Lettie asked standing in front of the office door. The tour had just concluded and she was desperate to get away from him as he was making her extremely uncomfortable. All the way through the tour of the room he had had his eyes on her constantly instead of what he was describing and ushering too.

"No, you will not have time," he answered, sitting back down behind his desk.

"Master, I must keep watch of my sisters."

"Their friends will."

"But--"

"Enough! I expect you to be here at the regular time tomorrow. You will begin then," he stated sharply ushering for her to open the office door.

"Yes."

"Good, now get going. It is almost closing time. Good evening."

"Good evening," she said as she exited the room quickly.

  
"Mother, father, I must tell you something," Lettie said, entering the front room. She had been debating earlier, during the remaining time in work, and when she was walking home, if she should tell her parents what had happened today. It was obvious she should as they would find out eventually if she did not. But she felt apprehensive for some reason. She knew they would be overjoyed at the idea of getting more money but something was prodding at the back of her mind. Something she could not yet comprehend.

John and Marie were sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, a small fire was burning within it. Her mother was knitting and her father was nursing a black eye and a bottle of some sort of cheap alcohol.

"Qui? (Yes?)" Marie asked without interest, she kept her eyes, and half her attention, on her knitting.

"I--I have been promoted." She spoke shakily.

They both looked up and questioned her in unison. "What!?"

"Master Crook gave me a new job."

"Why?" Marie asked raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"I do not know but it pays well."

John nodded and raised the bottle he was holding, "cheers, ghile (darling)."

Lettie smiled. That was the first time her father had ever congratulated her on anything. It was a nice feeling. Though she suspected it would be the first and last time this feeling of self satisfaction or praise would happen.

"Bravo (well done), amour (sweetheart)," her mother spoke returning her attention back to her knitting.

"Thank you."

  
That night as Lettie lay in bed, she began to wonder why Mister Crook had given her the job. Why so quickly? Yes, she had been working there for years but there must be more qualified people to do her newly appointed job. Obviously the rest of the children who worked at the mill were not qualified. Most could not even read or write. She was lucky to be able to. (She had been fortune enough to go to school for a few years.)

Her schooling abruptly stopped when her parents could no longer afford to pay for it. Lettie was heartbroken at this but quickly got over it as she was sent to work full-time. Her mother once said, _"finding a way to sustain one's life comfortably is more important than one's education"_. She never forgot that.

Her thoughts were drawn quickly back to the promotion. Surely Crook should hire a woman more capable, someone of his own class, for the job. A well educated lady. Not her.

Though, saying that, she was not complaining. She was doing it purely for the money. Maybe she did not have to go down to the newsagents and check the advertisements after all. This job could be her way out of the slums. A way out of supporting her family. She would work long enough to gain a generous sum of money, give it to her mother, as she was the more responsible parent, and then leave.

With this thought swirling in her head, Lettie closed her eyes and began to fall asleep, dreading the hard labour she would have to endure tomorrow.


	2. Secretary

Lettie stood contemplating outside her employer's office after having left her sisters on the floor below with their new friends. How they had found companions so quickly was beyond her, but she did not complain. At least they would be partly distracted from their grievous surroundings. Unfortunately that would not last long because as soon as they reached eleven or twelve they would begin to see this place for what it truly was. They would soon see it was not a place to go and talk with their friends but rather a hellish nightmare. And, more upsettingly, she would probably not be there to protect them.   
  
  
"Master?" she called out, knocking on the solid wood door meekly. Might as well get the day started. She could not stand outside here all afternoon.  
  
"Miss Thompson, enter please," he replied instantly.  
  
She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for an eventful and grief filled day, and opened the door.  
  
On entering the office, she was greeted with the sight of the two Crook brothers standing in the middle of the room.  
"Good morning, Miss Thompson," Timothy greeted her with a cheery smile.

 _How in God's name was he so joyful at this time in the morning?_  
  
His older brother, Thaddeus, looked her up and down before turning his gaze back to the other man. "What is she doing here?"  
  
"She is my new secretary, Thad. You know I have an awful lot of work to do so I hired her to...relieve some of that pressure," the other blond replied slyly.  
  
"I see," Thaddeus smirked at his brother before he began to make his exit. He strolled slowly toward the office door and, subsequently, the puzzled girl who stood in front of it. An unreadable look and smile on his handsome face.  
  
"Well, I will leave you two to it," he said, stopping in front of Lettie so he could stare into her frightened green eyes. "What is your name?"  
  
"Lettie, sir," she answer meekly. Meekness was not a quality she usually possessed around her friends, and, sometimes her family, but when she was around her employers it was the only trait she seemed to convey. It also did not help that he was rather intimidating, she had never been in close contact with this particular brother before and was _very_ thankful for it as she had heard horrific rumours about how brutal his punishments were. But now she was forced in to an uncomfortable situation and had to act accordingly.  
  
He did not answer straight away, which allowed her time to analyse him.  
  
He looked rather similar to his brother with his blue eyes and blond hair. They were a similar build, both broad-shouldered, lean and tall, Thaddeus more so in each case though. The older brother seemed to have an inch or two on his younger sibling.  
  
"Lettie," he said slowly as if he was comprehending, in her opinion, a very simple name. "What is that short for?"  
  
"Colette, sir."  
  
"Colette," he muttered raising an eyebrow in astonishment. "What a frightfully posh name for such a--" He paused to look her over again before finishing his sentence in his sly voice, "...simple girl."  
  
"My mum is French, sir. She named me it."  
  
"French? My, that is quite something. How exotic."  
  
"T--Thank you, sir."  
  
He hummed and took one last look at her before strolling out of the room.  
  
Lettie breathed out a held back breath discretely. That was quite a confrontation. She never wanted to speak to that man ever again. Thankfully he usually stayed in his office on the bottom floor. And when he did leave his office he would only patrol the bottom and second floor. So she was safe...for now.  
  
"Miss Thompson."  
  
She looked up at the sound of her name to see Timothy sat behind his desk beaming at her. She had completely forgot he was there. "I have some paperwork for you to go over."  
  
  
  
Lettie flicked through the papers again, checking her corrections while ignoring the pair of eyes on her. She had been trying to focus on her work for the past two hours but _he_ was making it difficult. Timothy had been watching her like a hawk since she started her work. Why? Did he think she was going to steal something from the office if he looked away? Had not he better things to do? Had he no work of his own?  
  
The only relief she got was when he left the room. Though, saying that, she could still hear him as he shouted at the workers outside. His yells sent shivers down her spine and made her hand shake as she wrote. To add to her already anxious state, he was usually only gone for short periods of time. When he returned from his patrols, he would stand over her, breathing down her neck as she rewrote his letters and documents. He had asked her to, saying that _"his handwriting was appalling"_.  
  
He was not wrong.  
  
  
"Your handwriting is incredible," he acknowledged, peering down at her work from where he was stood behind her. He had just returned from another one of his little walks around the factory and was doing another check up on her work.

 _He really must have nothing to do._  
  
She muttered a thank you and continued to rewrite his papers in her impeccable handwriting.  
  
"Who knew a pauper could have such extraordinary penmanship? Where did you learn to write so beautifully?"  
  
"I went to school for a bit. Also my mother taught me."  
  
"You also speak properly too," he thought aloud whilst tucking a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear.  
  
"M--My mother taught me," she stuttered, suppressing the urge to shrug him off. Why was he touching her hair? She did _not_ like that. _At all_. Also he was standing far too close to her. So close that he could feel his front pressing against her back. Was he aware of this?  
  
"Your mother sounds like an exceptional woman." His hands were still lingering around her hair.  
  
"Master, may I please continue with my work?" she asked in an attempt to get him away from her. She just wanted to work in peace.  
  
"Of course," he said moving away from her. "Bring it over to my desk when you are finished."  
  
  
  
Rain.  
  
That was all Lettie could hear as she sat behind her little desk. (It was really just a spindly little table Timothy had shoved next to the door).  
  
The sound of the rain pitter-pattering on the glass roof outside the office was very relaxing. So much so that Lettie had to cover her mouth to muffle a yawn. Unfortunately her discreteness did not evade her employer.  
  
"Tired, Miss Thompson?" His sly voice came from across the small room.  
  
"Of course not, Master," she answered quickly. If she came across as being tired, which she was, she could possibly be fined. According to one of the factory's rules, she could be fined for almost a day's wage for merely swaying slightly with tiredness, never mind a yawn.  
  
"Hmm," he mumbled watching, with a hint of amusement, as she badly suppressed another yawn. "Are you quite sure?"  
  
"Yes, Master."  
  
"The rain is very relaxing, is it not?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I will not deduct your wages for today, do not fret. You may yawn."  
  
"Thank you," she said through a yawn.  
  
He chuckled and sat forward in his chair, "are you finished the work?"  
  
"I have completed the first stack," she answered looking at the three neat stacks in front of her.  
  
"Brilliant! Bring it over here, please."  
  
Lettie picked up the completed stack, stood up and hurried over to his desk. "The rewritten ones are on the top and the originals are on the bottom."  
  
"Oh don't worry I think I'll be able to tell which is which," he joked, taking the stack from her. She smiled politely at the joke and made her way back over to her desk.  
  
  
"Miss Thompson," he said just as she sat down.  
  
She suppressed a sigh, sensing he was about to ask her to stand back up and go get something for him. "Yes?"  
  
"It is luncheon."  
  
"Luncheon?" Did he mean break time? They always got a break around one o'clock. Was it that time already?  
  
"Your break," he clarified.  
  
"Oh." So it was. Good lord, time flew.  
  
"Come here."  
  
She stood up and grabbed the brown paper bag that contained her lunch, which was two buttered slices of bread. That had to keep her going until eight o'clock tonight. It never did. Her stomach would be rumbling by five.  
  
When she reached his desk he sat back in his chair and smiled at her. "If I were to loan you a few pennies to go buy two pies off the stall outside would you remain here for an extra half an hour tonight after closing time to help me finish some more work?"  
  
She was stunned at his proposal. Why would she buy two pies for him? All her break time would be taken up. She could not waste that time getting _his_ lunch. Anyways why could he not buy them himself? Lazy bastard.  
  
"I am sorry, Master, but I have to walk my sisters home."  
  
"Yes but what about the pies?"  
  
"I only have a little bit of time to eat my lunch, Master. And I do not want to waste that time getting pies."  
  
"You do not like pie?"  
  
"Never had one."  
  
"You have never had a pie?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He stood up and grabbed the brown paper bag from her, "well today is your lucky day!" He dropped it in to the rubbish bin next to his desk and offered her a few pennies. "Go buy two for us."  
  
"Yes," she said without protest. So he was not asking her two get the pies for him and his brother... That was a surprise.  
  
"Good girl," he said, handing her the pennies. He plopped back down behind his desk and ushered for her to go.  
  
  
  
Lettie climbed back up the stairs, holding the paper wrapped pies in her hands precariously. She was just turning on to the fourth and finally staircase when she noticed her sisters sitting with their friends, chewing on their stale bread. They looked so miserable...  
  
Lettie looked at one of the steaming pies in her hand. She could give it to them...it was only right. They needed it more than she did.  
  
Without even thinking of the consequences, she stalked over to her sisters. "Ana, Ida. I got you something."  
  
They looked from their friends to her expectantly. Their eyes filled with curiousity. Lettie smiled at them reassuringly and showed them one of the pies. Their already wide eyes widened even more at the sight of the piping hot pastry.  
  
"What's that?" Ana asked looking from the pie to Lettie.  
  
"It's a pie! Right?" Ida answered excitedly before her older sister could even open her mouth. They had never eaten one, let alone seen one. Of course they had heard stories about how delicious they were, but unfortunately they could not afford one, even though they were only a couple of pennies each. _"Too poor!"_ their mother used to say as they passed the pie stall to the soup kitchen.  
  
"That's right," Lettie said, pulling the pie into halves. She gave one half to Ana and the other to Ida.  
  
"Thank you!" they cried in unison will digging into their food.  


  
  
"Master?" Lettie asked while knocking on the office door. She was still iffy about just wandering into the office even though he told her she could. He could be in a meeting or something else important like that. She did not want to barge in and end up being punished.  
  
"Enter!" Came his cheery reply.  
  
She opened the door and stepped into the room, instantly feeling his unnerving gaze on her.  
  
"I can smell those pies from here," he grinned, watching her as she closed the door and ambled up to his desk.  
  
Lettie placed the change and pie down in front of him. "The man said there was more then enough money to pay for it."  
  
"Really? It was only a couple of pennies?" he muttered a thought aloud as he looked at the delicious pie. "They get cheaper and cheaper with every passing day I wager, Miss Thompson."  
  
"Yes," she replied quietly waiting for him to tell her to go sit down and continue her work.  
  
"Well keep the change," he said looking back up at her as he offered her the tiny amount of money.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"It is not much. Anyways you have your p-" he cut himself off when he did not see her holding a pie. "Where's yours?"  
  
"I--I gave it to my sisters," she answered meekly. Why did she think he would not notice?  
  
"Excuse me?" he hissed, dropping the money and standing up swiftly. This sudden movement caused his chair to tumble over which made a loud banging noise once it hit the wooden floor. "I told you to buy that pie for yourself!"  
  
"I did but then I saw my sisters a--and they couldn't eat their own food. It was stale," Lettie explained shakily. "So I gave them my pie. They needed it."  
  
"No they did not! How dare you!"  
  
"I--I am sorry! Please! They were so hungry," she stuttered stepping back just as he rounded the desk and pushed past her with such force that she almost fell over.  
  
"I must punish them! They stole from me!"  
  
"No!" Lettie cried, regaining her balance and stumbling after him. "No, no! Please, it's my fault...p...punish me." She could not believe she was going to be punished for the second day in a row. She honestly did not know if her back or bottom could take any more lashes. It still hurt to sit down from the beating she got yesterday.  
  
  
He stopped at the office door, grasping the door knob. "You want to take the punishment for your sisters again?"  
  
"Y--Yes. They are only children. It..." She stopped herself. Why bother explain? He does not care. She just wanted to get it over with.  
  
There was silence for a few painful minutes until he turned around. His calm gaze met her frightened one. "There will be no punishment. Just finish your work."  
  
"Yes," she blurted in relief while hurrying behind her desk.  
  
"You _will_ stay here for an hour after work has finished," he said, dropping his hand from the handle and strolling across the room back over to his desk.  
  
"Of course," she answered, picking her pen back up and forcing herself out of her stunned state.  
  
  
  
"Miss Thompson?"  
  
"Yes?" She looked across the room at him. It had been hours since he spoken to her. Which she was thankful for because she had managed to get the majority of her work done.  
  
"Are you finished?"  
  
"I'm finished the second stack and nearly finished the third."  
  
"How far through the third?'  
  
"I have two more pages."  
  
"Excellent." He nodded, standing up.  
  
Lettie looked back to her work, assuming he was off on one of his walks. The last time he went off he brought back a child and beat them in front of her. The door was wide open for everyone to hear. And he certainly did not hold back. He broke a cane on her back. Granted it was only a skinny little thing, more like a twig really, but it must have been extremely painful for the poor girl. She only looked about eight or nine.  
  
He had brought four other children in throughout the day. They were all below ten years old and, of course, he beat them senseless.  
  
He was an animal.

  
  
"Miss Thompson." His voice was closer to her than she expected. Her head shot up to see him standing in front of the desk looking down at her. "When you finish those papers, I will escort you home."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Your sisters have already gone home, I informed them earlier," he swiftly cut her off while collecting the completed stack.  
  
"Master?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"Just after nine."  
  
She nodded and looked back at her work.  


  
Half an hour later, Lettie was following Timothy down the street outside the factory. They were walking down the right side of the road, which was the opposite direction to her home. She glanced over her shoulder at the darkening sky and the man who was currently lighting the last few street lamps behind them. Good God, it was so dark. She needed to get home before her mother started to worry. "Master?" she asked, turning back around to look at the blond man who was a few steps ahead of her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"My home is not this way."  
  
"I know," he simply replied, carrying on down the street towards a few carriages.  
  
"Then--" she stopped herself when she saw him stop in front of one of the carriages.  
  
_What in God's name?_  
  
She hurried her pace, watching as Timothy spoke to the man sat up on the evaluated seat attached to the front of the carriage in a hushed tone.  
  
  
After a few seconds, Timothy looked back at the puzzled girl, who was standing quite a bit away from him, and ushered for her to come forward. She did so, cautiously. What was he doing? Was he getting a Hansom cab for them? No, surely he could not be. That would be nonsensical.  
  
Carefully avoiding the horse, connected to the cab, (she hated horses), Lettie reached her smiling employer.  
  
"We are getting a Hansom cab," he announced, opening the door. "Ladies first." He ushered for her to get in.  
  
"N--No, I couldn't, Master. I can just walk."  
  
"A young lady walk home by herself at this time at night around this area? That is madness. What kind of gentlemen would I be if I just let you wander off by yourself? Anything could happen to you."  
  
Lettie sighed, suppressing the urge to protest again. She did not want to risk making him angry. If he did get frustrated, God knows what he could do to her out here in the dark. "Of course."  
  
"Excellent," he beamed, ushering for her to enter the carriage once again.  
  
She stepped forward once again and eyed the unsecure looking folding step. That did not look safe.  
  
Timothy noticed her uneasiness and touched the small of her back, catching her attention. "It will not break. You do not weigh enough to break it," he reassured her, pushing her forward gently.  
  
She nodded and gingerly placed a booted foot on the step. It did not budge. Still unsure, she placed an amount of pressure on it to check it's security. It did not break. In fact, it did not even move.  
  
Satisfied, she awkwardly clambered into the carriage, ducking her head down to avoid slamming her forehead on the roof. She sat down on the seat to her right and breathed out. That was terrifying. More terrifying than the horse.  
  
Timothy swiftly climbed in after her, slamming the door shut as he sat on the seat opposite her. "Are you quite well, Miss Thompson?"  
  
Lettie nodded silently and looked around the interior of the carriage to distract herself from her racing heart. It was incredible. The wooden walls were painted a white colour, though over the years of use it had faded and cracked. But it was still oddly beautiful. The seat, she was sat on, was amazingly comfortable. She had never sat on something so soft before. Whatever material it was, it was working wonders for her. It stopped the pain in her lower back and backside unlike the wooden chair she had to sit in all day today. This was truly luxurious.  
  
  
"You look stunned," Timothy commented after a few seconds of watching the girl eye the cheap velvet curtains over the window.  
  
"I--" her voice stopped as the carriage started to move along the cobbled street. The sensation of the carriage bumping along the road made Lettie feel slightly queasy. "I--I have never been in carriage before, that is all," she whispered, suppressing the need to vomit.  
  
"Ah, I see," he said, sitting back in his seat.  
  
"The...the sensation of th... The rocking is quite sickening."  
  
"You will get used to it."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at his words but nodded, breathing in sharply.  
  
"What I mean is, after a few minutes it will become unnoticeable," he clarified sensing her confusion.  
  
"Oh okay," she responded through a shaky whisper as she gripped the seat she was sat on in an attempt to calm herself.  
  
  
He was right, she got use to the feeling after a few minutes. With her stomach settled, she returned her previously downcast gaze to the curtains to her right. They were pulled over, shielding them from the dirty back streets outside. The locals must be extremely confused, Hansom cabs never entered this part of the Lambeth. The very very very poor part. She was already starting to feel embarrassed and nobody could even see her yet. God, this will be the talk of the neighborhood for days now. Brilliant, just what she needed. Her mother had already been telling their neighbours about her promotion that morning.  
  
"Miss Thompson?" She heard the gentlemen sat across from her say.  
  
She looked across at Timothy, giving him her full attention. He, with his hands clasped on his lap, was smiling gently at her. This smile grew as their gazes met. She almost smiled herself at the kind sight, but stopped herself before she did.   
  
"You are a very good secretary."  
  
"Am I?" It had only been a day. Not even that. How did he already know? How could he say that. They had had awful interactions today. She had somehow avoided a beating today which was still something she could not comprehend. It was miraculous considering her past offences. For example, she had once got punished for sneezing. But today she had used his money to buy a pie. A pie which she gave to her sisters. And he did nothing about it. If she had done that a week ago he would have probably killed her. What had changed in that short amount time?  
  
"Yes. I am glad I made the decision to give you the job."  
  
"Really? Thank you, Master. That is awfully kind of you."  
  
"You are most welcome, Miss Thompson."  
  
Lettie sat back in her seat and exhaled, the vibrations were getting to her again. "I...I apologize for what I did today. I could not help but give the pie to my sisters. You have a brother, you must understand the need to protect him," she reasoned, distracting herself from her churning stomach.  
  
He nodded and pulled back the curtain to look out. "Yes, I suppose I do. But do not do it again. Next time I buy you a pie, eat it yourself."  
  
"Of course, sir."

  
There was silence as she watched him look out the window. What was he looking at? Was he checking if they were close to their destination?  
  
"You must be hungry. When was the last time you ate?" He suddenly perked up, looking from the window to her.  
  
"This morning."  
  
"Good God," he muttered to himself before slamming his fist on the roof. Before Lettie could ask him what he was doing, the carriage ground to a halt and Timothy, without an explanation, opened the door and stepped out.  
  
They must have reached her home, she thought as she went to climb out after him.  
  
"No, stay there. I will return shortly," he ordered before slamming the door shut.  
  
Lettie, now completely confused, sat back down and waited for his return. Many thoughts ran through her mind. Instantly, of course, she conjured up the worst possible scenarios. She dismissed them sharply. He would not harm her. Why would he? He had forgiven her for what she had done earlier. She just needed to relax. It was ridiculous to think he would do anything to her especially when she could hear people walking and talking outside. He was not stupid. If he were going to hurt her he would have done it when they were alone in the office.  
  
"Here," Timothy's voice said, breaking her out of her thoughts, as he climbed back into the carriage. The delicious smell of pastry and chicken followed him. He had bought food? What?  
  
The blond man sat down opposite her and closed the door. "I bought you a pie."  
  
"You did?" she asked, looking at the steaming pie in the paper wrap. Her stomach rumbled on cue.  
  
"Yes." He offered it to her but she hesitated. Was this a test? If she took it would he punish her?... If she refused would he punish her?  
  
"I--I do not understand," she said cautiously.  
  
"I bought you a pie."  
  
"Why, may I ask?"  
  
"You...you are hungry. Correct?" he said in equal confusion.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That is why I bought it."  
  
"I...I--"  
  
Timothy sighed, leaned forward and placed the pie in her lap. "Eat it."  
  
Deciding not to protest any further, Lettie unwrapped the hot pie and took a small bite of it. Good lord, it was delicious. The chicken was scrumptious and a very welcome new taste to her very plain food palate. The only time she ever had chicken was at Christmas. They could never afford turkey so they bought a chicken instead.  
  
Timothy chuckled at her blissful expression and sat back in his seat.  
  
She noticed this and scolded herself mentally for expressing herself in such an unladylike way. But nonetheless, she continued to eat the pastry quietly and quickly. She had not realised how hungry she was.

  
  
After a few minutes of watching her scoff down the pie, her employer piped up again. "You are enjoying it, I see."  
  
She nodded and slowed her pace once again. This time she savoured the taste of the crumbly buttery pastry, gravy, chicken and peas. She would probably never have one again so she might as well enjoy it while she could. And by God did she enjoy it in those last few bites  
  
When she was finished she scrunched up the piece of paper in her hand and bowed her head again trying to not let him see the crumbs around her mouth. She had nothing to wipe them away with, except her dress sleeve but she could never do that in front of a gentleman.  
  
"Here," Timothy said, offering her his white handkerchief.  
  
Lettie's eyes raised from her feet to the cloth. It looked exquisite. She could not wipe her mouth on that. It would be a crime.  
  
"Mas--"  
  
"Do not protest, Miss Thompson," he cautioned her calmly while forcing the handkerchief in to her hand.  
  
She nodded, realising he was quite sick of her excuses, and gingerly wiped her mouth with the cloth. It was incredibly soft. What material was it? Cotton? Silk? All she knew for certain was that she was not worthy enough to hold it, never mind freshen herself up with it.  
  
Thanking him, she held the cloth out to the discretely stunned man. She must not have known that it was not polite to return a spoiled handkerchief, but he did not make this fault known but rather smiled and took it from her.  
  
"I have to pay you back," Lettie said, opening her small coin purse, that she kept in one of her dress pockets. She looked at the few pennies inside. It was not much, but it was something. "I have about four pennies and two shillings. How much was the pie?"  
  
He shook his head. "No payment is necessary."  
  
"Bu--"  
  
He waved off her concern with the flick of his right hand. "Again, Miss Thompson. Please do not argue with me. There will be no payment."  
  
"If you insist," she mumbled, snapping the purse shut and resting back in the plush seat just as the carriage ground to a halt.  
  
"Ah this must be our stop!" The blond exclaimed, swinging the small wooden door open and climbing out. She followed suit, clambering down the step with his aid.  
  
  
_"Colette!"_ she heard a heavily accented voice cry as her feet landed on the dirt road. Instantly she knew it was her mother.  
  
_Oh no._  
  
The girl turned to the right to see a fuming looking brunette woman glaring daggers at her. Before she could opened her mouth to excuse her actions, Timothy strode confidently past her and towards her mother. His back was to Lettie.  
  
"Mrs Thompson, I assume?" Timothy asked, strolling up to the furious woman. Marie's eyes drifted from her daughter to the tall handsome man approaching her. Her gaze softened considerably at the sight of him.  
  
"Mr Crook," she greeted him with a friendly smile as he stopped in front of her. She looked over the man's shoulder at a meek Lettie. "What is my daughter in trouble for this time?"  
  
Timothy chuckled and shook his head.  "Nothing at all, Mrs Thompson."  
  
"Really?" Marie asked in disbelief.  
  
Lettie almost scoffed at her mother's tone. She did not _always_ get into trouble.  
  
"Yes, she is no trouble."  
  
"Then why, may I ask, is she late home?" Marie asked in a less than friendly tone. Good God, she might as well have concluded that question by spitting in his face. The rudeness!  
  
Lettie was gobsmacked. Did her mother just question her daughter's employer? The man that was providing all her children with work and money! They could be sacked! Was she mad?!  
  
The brunette held her breath as she waited for Timothy's probable angry answer.  
  
"I asked her to stay behind to finish some other tasks for me. Did her sisters arrive home safely?"  
  
Lettie let out her held in breath. That was... calm.  
  
"Yes they did, Mr Crook." Her mother answered sweetly. "Thank you for asking."  
  
"I hope I did not worry you too much."  
  
"No, no, of course not."  
  
Timothy's charming smile widened. "Mrs Thompson, may I ask where you are from? Your accent is extraordinary."  
  
"Oh." Marie blushed, her own smile increasing, "I'm French."  
  
"French? How wonderful. Magnifique! (Magnificent!)"  
  
"Oui! (Yes!). Do you speak French?"  
  
"A little. I was taught the language as a child."  
  
"Fabulous."  
  
Marie looked at her sulking child standing awkwardly next to the carriage. "Did you hear that, Lettie? Mr Crook knows French." She quickly looked back to the man before Lettie could answer. "Colette is fluent. Maybe that could help with her work."  
  
Lettie rolled her eyes at her mother's boasting and crossed her arms, shivering slightly. She hadn't realised how cold it was.  
  
"Mrs Thompson," Timothy said, edging away from the older woman and catching the younger girl's attention. "I must depart now, it is getting late and I assume you and your daughter would like to retire for the evening."  
  
_Retire? What did that mean?_ , Lettie pondered as she walked up to them. She knew the minute Timothy was out of sight, and earshot, she would be scolded by her mother.  
  
"This is Miss Thompson's pay for today," the man said handing Marie a small brown envelope. "Plus a bonus for her overtime work."  
  
Marie gleefully took the envelope from him and deposited it into one of her apron pockets.  
  
He saw this but before he could make a charming remark he noticed her large stomach. "Mrs Thompson, how far along are you, may I ask?"  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed patting her stomach lovingly. "Seven months."  
  
"Congratulations."  
  
"Oh, thank you."  
  
"Mother. May I go inside?" Lettie asked in her mother's native tongue. She hoped Timothy was not that skilled in the French language.  
  
"Yes," she answered bluntly, without turning her attention away from the man stood in front of her.  
  
"Goodnight, Mr Crook," the girl said to the blond man.  
  
"Goodnight, Miss Thompson. I look forward to working with you tomorrow."  
  
She nodded and entered her home, leaving her mother and employer outside to finish their conversation. Passing her father on her way to the stairs, she took a quick glance at him.  
  
He was standing in front of the living room's window looking, presumably, out at his wife and Timothy. In his right hand he was holding a slim green bottle labelled _Port_. What a surprise. He was drinking again.  
  
Looking away, she ascended the stairs quickly, eager to collapse in her bed.  
  
  
  
 She was not in bed twenty minutes when her mother walked into the bedroom.  
  
"Colette," she said in a hushed tone.  
  
She did not need to whisper, it would not wake Ana and Ida. When they fell asleep, they would be out till sunrise. Lucky things.  
  
"Yes, mother?" The seventeen year old replied not moving from her comfortable position in the uncomfortable bed.  
  
"There is twenty pound in the envelope."  
  
"Really?!" Lettie gasped, raising her head to look at the woman standing in the door way. That was a massive amount of money. It would usually take them a one month to get.  
  
"Yes, Mr Crook is very fond of you and believes you to be a very good worker. Remain that way, Colette."  
  
"I will, mother."  
  
"How much did he say the pay per week was?"  
  
"Seven pounds...why did he give us an extra thirteen?"  
  
"He said the extra was for myself and your father when the baby arrives and for the extra hour he kept you back today."  
  
"That is very kind of him...but it is not Friday yet."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It is Monday. Why did he give us the week pay on the start of the week?"  
  
Marie shrugged and exited the room.  
  
Lettie sighed and rested her head back down on her flat pillow. Today was definitely a strange day. It had gotten stranger and stranger as it went on. It had started out fine, except for the whole Thaddeus situation. She had sat behind her desk rewriting Timothy's letters, documents and what not. Then lunch time rolled around and she had that predicament with the pie and her sisters. She was still confused about that. Why had he not punished her? That seemed to be his favourite activity after all. She had even offered herself up for the beating instead of her sister which, she believed, was what he wanted to happen. So why not go through with it? What stopped him? Maybe he thought there was not point because he needed his paperwork done. Or maybe he was prolonging it till tomorrow. She hoped for the former but it was unlikely.  
  
Lettie sighed again and turned over in the bed, facing away from the door, trying to dismiss the unpleasant thoughts. She had a feeling that tomorrow would be another unusual and uncomfortable day.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week was uneventful. Lettie went to work, did the paperwork Timothy assigned to her, delivered papers to and from the Crook brothers, and completed other tedious jobs like that. Even though she was bored out of her mind, she did not complain as she was receiving a generous amount of money for doing easy work. Also she was honestly to afraid of her employer to complain. She still could not believe this opportunity had spontaneously fallen upon her. God was truly being kind to her. Finally.  
  
  
On Friday, as closing time neared, Lettie was just finishing up her work when Timothy entered the office followed by another tall and smartly gentleman.  
  
They were discussing something as they came into the room but Lettie did not notice them as her full attention was on the letter she was rewriting. There was about a paragraph and a bit left. It was the last thing she had to do today so she was eager to finish it quickly. All she wanted to do was finish her work, go home, go to the market and go to bed. This week had been a difficult one, thus it had given her great fatigue. Not just from her psychical activities but also from the stress she gained after watching Timothy beat children in front of her every day. Thankfully, and God knows how, she managed to avoid punishment. Though saying that, she rather have taken the punishment for the young girls he was thrashing as she believed it would have been less stressful, and perhaps even less painful, than watching. What made it worse was that the number of lashings had increased since last week. Instead of it being three or four a day, it was now up to ten or even twelve, if he was feeling particularly villainous. It was revolting but there was really nothing she could do about it. She had to keep her head down and do her work.  
  
  
"Who is this lovely young lady?" The unfamiliar gentleman said as he, and Timothy, stopped in front of Lettie's desk. He peered curiously down at the brunette girl. Her head was bowed and she was scribbling quickly, seemingly completely oblivious to their arrival, and, subsequent, close proximity.  
  
"This is Miss Thompson," Timothy answered also looking at her.  
  
Lettie looked up, at the sound of her name, to see the two men looking down at her. "Um... Hello."  
  
The stranger, to her right, chuckled and stretched his hand out to her and, with a friendly smile on his face, said, "hello, my dear."  
  
She smiled back at the kindly looking, and sounding, greying brunet man and shook his hand. As she did so, she quickly analysed his face. (A habit of hers she had since she was a child.) He was definitely in his forties or fifties, that was evident from the wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. He had green eyes and a remarkable moustache. That certain feature told her two things. The first was that it must be what people distinguished him by, and secondly, it hinted that he was banker. She had been told by her father to _"never trust a man with a moustache, ghile. They're thievin' bastard bankers. They'll take all yer feckin' money and spend it on their families. Bankers are fuckin' scum"._  
  
Saying that, his face did look very familiar. Where had she seen him before? God, it was on the tip of her tongue...  
  
He let go of her hand and nodded to her work. "What are you working on there, dear?"  
  
"Oh," she mumbled, glancing at her nearly finished paper, "I am just rewriting a letter for Mr Crook."  
  
"I see," he responded, admiring her neat handwriting.  
  
"She is an excellent secretary," Timothy interjected proudly.  
  
The older man answered with a frank nod and ushered to the large desk across the room with his walking stick. "Shall we?"  
  
The blond nodded eagerly and began to make his way over to his desk.  
  
"It was lovely speaking to you, Miss Thompson." The kindly man said, smiling one last time at her before turning and walking away.  
  
Returning the sentiment, Lettie turned her gaze back to her work trying desperately to focus on it, but all she could think about how familiar that man was. Honest to God, she had seen him before. But where? And when?  
  
Before she think any further on the matter, Timothy's voice broke her out of her thoughts, "Miss Thompson, you may go home now."  
  
She looked across the room to check she was not hearing things.  
  
The two men were looking back at her.  
  
"It is closing time, collect your sisters and leave," her employer said from where he was sat behind his desk.  
  
"Of course." She rose up from her less than sturdy chair, collected her things and quickly exited. Clutching her empty lunch bag to her chest as she went. Her mind abuzz with thought.  
  
  


  
Lettie had never seen her mother smile so much before in her life.  
  
The dark haired woman was grinning from ear to ear as she prepared dinner with her two youngest children in the dingy kitchenette.  
  
That afternoon, when Lettie arrived home from the market with a bulging basket of groceries, her mother looked like she was about to explode with joy. (Money was truly an amazing thing.)  
  
Grabbing the basket from her eldest daughter, she explained to her family, who had collected in the front room after hearing her squeak with joy, that she was making a classic French dish for dinner.  
  
  
Lettie was (again) pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of her mother calling her name. "Hmm?" she muttered meeting the older woman's gaze.  
  
Marie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Go find your père! (father!)"  
  
This was not the first time she had asked her to go out and search for her father. "Ok." Lettie simply said before turning and leaving. This had been her duty for over five years now; To go out and rescue him from a possible pub brawl. She took over the job from her mother when Ana was born.  Though even before her sister's birth, she was sometimes sent off to find him. It was frightening, to say the least.  
  
  
Huffing, she stepped out onto the mud path outside her home, pulling her coat tighter around her malnourished frame as the full force of the weather hit her. It was freezing cold and just starting to drizzle rain.  
  
_Oh lovely._  
  
Although autumn was her second favourite season, (winter being her first), she had to admit there were an equal amount of flaws and perfections. For example, as much as she loved how the golden and deep red leaves that fell off the large trees, that surrounded and cocooned the small neighbourhood she lived in, created a lush carpet on the muddy ground, which made her feel like royalty as she walked on them, she did not like how the mud still stained her clothes unmercifully. It took her hours to rub the dirt off her attire each night.  
  
Similarly, as much as she was grateful for the nice mild breeze to cool her off after a longs day's work, she absolutely despised the rain as it made her clothes wet, which caused the stiff material to soften and stick to her often raw skin. She could deal with the cold, mostly. Though she did have fears off freezing at night.  
  
And that was not exactly an irrational fear to have considering her current housing situation. It was not exactly the most insulated home. They had no glass panes in the window for God's sake! They had either been sold to pay the rent or, in the more upsetting case, stolen by neighbours, or whoever, for, probably, the same reasons as them; Paying the landlords. Her mother cried for a week straight, after selling the last pane to pay for the rent.  
  
_"My little girls will freeze!" she wallowed to her husband who saw beside her on the raggedy old couch._  
  
_"They'll be fine. They'll keep each other warm," he reassured her before taking a swig of Port._  
  
_"And that will keep you warm!" she screamed, pointing to the bottle, "that is what you waste our rent money on! That is why we have to sell our windows!"_  
  
_"Oi! Look, woman. I gotta keep myself sane in this house!"_  
  
_"You are never here!"_  
  
_"That's because all you do is fucking nag me, Marie! Like yer doin' now!"_  
  
_"You cause me to nag you! What are going to do?!"_  
  
_"Nothing! We can't do nothing!"_  
  
  
He was right. They had no power. Nobody did in their area did.  
  
A while back, maybe five or six years ago, her small community attempted to make a union to protest against the horrible living conditions they were subjected to. Unsurprisingly, it did not work. And, to add insult to injury, the landlords raised the rent by four shillings. Two families perished because of that.  
  
Lettie shook her head, dismissing the thought, and turned a corner, exiting the safety of her neighbourhood. She drifted past the closed soup kitchen, that was located just on the corner. A small smile appearing on her face at the sight of the old dilapidated building. The kitchen had been set up by the Reds after the whole failed union situation. A surprisingly humane act for such a (rumoured) violent gang. But then again _"they're watching over their people. Keeping their territory safe"._  
  
She guessed her father's words were true after all. They really did care about the lower class community. The paupers were, after all, _their_ people. The gang was made up of them. As were most of the gangs in London.  
  
Obviously, rich people were not in gangs, but that did not mean they were not viscous beasts like the gangsters, or even worse, committed the same atrocities. No, they hid that trait behind their money, family and upper class jobs. When it came down to it, all men were the same, they just hide behind different things to disguise it. Her father hid behind booze and Timothy Crook hid behind his fortune.  
  
Speaking of her father, what public house would he be in tonight?  
  


  
Half an hour later, the angry girl emerged from the sixth local public house sighing in frustration. Where in God's name was he? She had thoroughly searched every one of the taverns he went to regularly but there was absolutely no sign of him. Where could he be? Her mother would be starting to get seriously worried soon. It never took her this long to find him usually.  
  
Defeated, she began to stroll back towards her house when a thought hit her.  
  
_He could be in the fight club._  
  
The fight club was situated across from her neighbourhood in an old workhouse that was no longer in use. The majority of the men in her area went to the club to bet on the fights, drink, and sometimes even participate in a boxing match or a game of cards. She herself had never been there, but she knew her father went there regularly as it was a Reds hotspot. He, rather unsurprisingly, was a Red. Her mother had done everything she could to prevent her children from finding out but, of course, Lettie found out. It was not exactly a well kept secret. Her parents would consistently fight about it.  
  
Anyways, maybe she should go down there and check. What harm could it do?  
  
  
  
She could see the harm now...  
  
The place was manic. Even from where she stood outside the tall and intimidating building, she could hear the shouting and cheers from inside. Good God. Should she go in? Or go home?  
  
Before she could think further on this, someone appeared in her eye line.  
  
"Can I help ya, love?"  
  
Turning her head to the left, to look at the person, she saw it was one of the Reds who had been standing outside the entrance of the building. She breathed a sigh of relief and pointed to the fight club ahead of them. "Yes, am I allowed to enter?"  
  
"I, uh, wouldn't suggest it. Young ladies shouldn't be angin' around 'ere. Especially not at this time of night," he protested politely.  
  
"Please, I'm looking for my father. My mother is very concerned about him. I cannot return home without him."    
  
The man, who looked barely older than her, glanced over his shoulder at the building, obviously deciding what to do.  
  
It did not take him long as he quickly looked back around at the patiently waiting girl. "What's his name?"  
  
"John Thompson," she answered hesitantly. Why was she hesitant? There was no reason to be. It was not like he cared who he, or she, was. She was just being paranoid.  
  
He nodded in response and ushered to the entrance, "come on then."  
  
  
The smell was the first thing to hit her as they entered the building throat a set of old creaky wooden double doors.  
  
_Ugh._  
  
It was horrific. It smelled like a mixture of blood, sweat, urine and... excrement?  
  
Lettie, at this realisation, resisted the urge to gag as she followed her guide very closely through the building. It may have made him uncomfortable but she was terrified and he was the only one who would probably protect her from any threat.   
  
Speaking of threats, she noticed there was quite a few as she looked around for her father. The place was crawling with men. Though that may too kind a word for what they were. Savages would be a more appropriate word, she suspected.  
  
They certainly acted like a bunch of barbarians, what with their animalistic howls, half nakedness, (her mother would have a fit if she could see what the young girl was seeing right now. Bare male torsos! She was definitely not allowed to see that), and their brutish acts.  
  
In fact, they were just passing one of the three boxing rings in the spacious building when she witnessed one of these acts. On hearing a chorus of cheers and a few grunts of pain, she instinctively turned her head to see a crowd surrounding a square shaped ring and two bloodied shirtless men swiping at each other with their bandage covered fists.  
  
"Come on, don't look at that." Her guide said, ushering her towards a set of wooden stairs to their left. "You don't need to see that."  
  
"Are we going up those stairs?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the men to the stairs in front of them.  
  
"Well, I'm gonna leave at the top there," he explained, pointing to the door that was at the top of the stairs. "That's the office, I'm gonna go in there and look in the books to see if your father's made a bet tonight. Is that alright?"  
  
"That is fantastic." _What a brilliant idea._ She would find him in no time.  
  
  
  
Once they reached the top of the stairs and, subsequently, stepped foot on the second floor, the young man disappeared into the office leaving her to her own devices.  
  
While by herself, her eyes began to wander again, analysing the crowd below for her father. He had to be some where in the masses, the problem was all the men were dressed the same, expect for the shirtless ones. (Though she knew her father was not drunk enough to box, so that was out of the question.) But she was confident he would be drunk enough to bet and drink at the little bar in the corner of the room which she, at that very moment, had just spotted. She almost scoffed at how excellently planned this whole situation was. Whoever ran this had all the key components that one would need to have a successful business. By having the bar, the punters and bettors would be become so intoxicated that they would not be aware of how much money they were spending watching the men beating the living day lights out of each other. How vile. She could see now why her mother hated her father going to this place. This was where her and her sisters' hard earned money went to. How could he? This was a waste.  
  
"You!"  
  
"Huh?" she mumbled, snapping out of her thoughts as someone reached her side.  
  
"Bring that in there!" A boy, about twelve years old, blurted, placing a tray in her hands before shoving her towards a door two down from the one she was stood outside off.  
  
Before she could even question what he thought he was doing, he gave her one last push and she tumbled into the room.  
  
Instinctively, she held the tray level to prevent the six drinks on the polished wooden platter from spilling.  
  
_My God! That boy has some strength!_  
  
Gaining her footing quickly, she stopped and held the tray still. Breathing a sigh of relief when she saw none of the drinks had split.  
  
_Thank God for that... Now where was that little boy who gave me this tray!_  
  
She turned to exit the room to find that little rascal when a familiar voice stopped her.  
  
"Miss Thompson, I was not aware you worked here."  
  
_Was that... No it could not be._  
  
Turning back around, she scanned the dimly lit room for the owner of the voice.  
  
Across the small room was a table with five men sat around it, all of which wore different experiences. Lettie felt her cheeks heat up with all the attention. God, she must look such a sight.  
  
"You look flustered, Miss Thompson," The familiar voice continued as one of the shadowy figures rose from their seat and approached her. As he moved into the light, that was cast from the candles on a side table, she saw it was the man who was talking to Mr Crook earlier.  
  
"Sir!" she squeaked. Good lord, she was glad to see him. A kind face. Finally!  
  
The moustached man smiled at her reaction, reached out and touched her elbow. "Are you quite alright?"  
  
"I--I...no," she muttered as he led her over to the table. "I'm looking for someone," she admitted quite randomly.  
  
"Who?" he asked, taking the tray from her as they reached the front of the table. He placed it down on the unpolished surface, keeping his calm gaze on the frightened girl's face.  
  
"You get me my gin?" A gruff voice barked, cutting into the their conversation.  
  
"He's trying to talk to 'er, leave it." Another equally gruff voice grumbled a warning.  
  
"Shut it, Green. I'll talk to her if I wanna."  
  
Lettie's eyes did not shift from the friendly stranger's gaze as she listened to the men's squabbling. It was not by her own accord, but rather that of her brain. It was too busy to listen to her demands as it was desperately trying to figure out who exactly was in the room with her.  
  
_Green?_  
  
No. She must be dreaming. It could not be _that_ Green. Could it? What bad luck she had.  
  
So did that mean the man stood beside her was also a gang leader? And was he the particular one she was thinking of at that very moment?  
  
"Mr Redding?" she muttered a guess cautiously as her eyes focused on the kind man stood beside her.  
  
Robert Redding's smile did not falter, in fact, it grew. He nodded oddly solemnly. "You were not aware?"  
  
"I thought I recognised you..."  
  
She could not believe it was him. He looked so normal. He was such a kind man. With such a gentle face... How could _he_ run a part of London? Suddenly she felt guilty for picturing him as a stereotypical criminal. Yes, she had imagined him, among many, with facial scars, a dodgy eye and little to no hair. Oh how wrong she had been. This really was the definition of do not judge a book by its cover. How frightening was the thought that such a ordinary looking gentleman could hold so much power.  
  
Mr Redding laughed lightly at her comment. "My dear, I don't mean to frighten you."  
  
"I do." Someone growled from her left.  
  
She, not bothering to look who was harassing her out of fear, kept her gaze on Mr Redding. "I must go, sir."  
  
"Before you do," he said, gripping her elbow gently to halt her movement, "please tell who you are looking for. Perhaps I could help."  
  
"I...I do not know...I cannot..."  
  
His smile dipped as he realised why she was uneasy. "Would you like to continue this discussion outside?"  
  
She nodded meekly, now allowing her eyes to scan the other people in the room. They all looked like variations of her previous idea. One, who was smiling at her rather unsettlingly, had very rotten teeth. It was not a pleasant sight. She had no desire to learn his name or any of the rest of them for that matter.  
  
Her gaze re-met his, "I would like that very much, sir. Thank you."  
  
  
Once safely outside the room (with the door closed), Mr Redding resumed their conversation. "Now, my dear, tell me what is worrying you."  
  
"I came here to find my father," she answered shakily before looking over her shoulder at the crowds of men below. She felt so alone. So afraid.  
  
The man gripped her shoulder to catch her attention once again. "Your father? Well there is no need to worry, we will find him, Miss Thompson."  
  
"A man went off to find out if he placed any bets," she said in a more confident tone now. Hopefully this would help their investigation.  
  
He nodded and looked to the door beside the one they were stood outside of. "I see, shall we find him."  
  
"Yes please," The girl on the verge of tears whispered, letting him lead her over to the other door.  
  
_"Redding!"_  
  
They both stopped dead at the sound of the frantic voice and turned to look at a young man running up the set of wooden stairs Lettie had walked up barely five minutes previously.  
  
"Charlie," Redding greeted the man in a toneless voice.  
  
_He did not like him?_  
  
"Mr Redding," The man, Charlie, greeted him in a similar, but breathless, tone.  
  
"I suppose you are here in place of Mr Kaylock?"  
  
"Yes, sir. 'e sends his apologies."  
  
"He is busy I assume?" His left eyebrow rose in such away that suggested there was something more to the story that he was not willing to say aloud, especially, as she assumed, not in the company of a young lady.  
  
"Very much so," he answered, shaking his head as if he was banishing a thought from his head.  
  
"Ah I see. It is _that_ type of business."  
  
Lettie looked between the two men trying to decrypt what they were saying. She knew she should not be, as it was none of her business, but she was intrigued. What exactly was going on here? And no, she did not just mean the current conversation the gentlemen were having in front of her. Rather she meant the five men sitting in the room behind them. Were they actually _the_ gang leaders? Had she heard right? And if so, what were they doing here? What were they talking about? Did she really want to know? Probably not.  
  
"My apologies," Charlie said, noticing her unrelated discomfort.  
  
"Indeed." The older man responded, guiding the girl away from him. "Charlie, head in to the room and have a seat, keep the other gentlemen company. They are not in good humour."  
  
"Of course, good evening."  
  
"Good evening," Redding answered as the three parted.  
  
  
Lettie and Mr Redding entered the office. The interior of the room was quite basic, mimicking that off Mr Crook's office. There was a desk with a chair behind it, two bookshelves and one cabinet. Besides the furniture, and themselves, the room was empty.  
  
Where was her guide?  
  
"It seems he has disappeared," Mr Redding answered her unasked question whilst approaching the desk, on which was a massive and thick book. "I wonder where he has gotten off to."  
  
She hummed in agreement and followed him over to the desk. "It is quite strange."  
  
"What is your father's name, my dear," he asked, opening the book and looking at her expectantly.  
  
"I... May I look?"  
  
"Do you not trust me?"  
  
She did not but she was not about to say that. He was too kind, she did not want to hurt his feelings... but he was still a criminal.  
  
He stood up straight, a soft smile still on his face, "I do not blame you, my dear."  
  
"I--I do not intend to be offence! I--I just... I."  
  
He waved off her concern with a flick of his hand and stepped aside. "Here, look for yourself."  
  
She smiled a small smile in response and looked at the book, scanning the content for her father's name.  
  
Mr Redding watched from a distant, patiently waiting for her to locate her parent's name.  
  
  
  
After a few minutes of flicking through the book, Lettie sighed and stood up straight, a look of confusion and despair on her face. "He is not on the list."  
  
"Oh, perhaps he is watching the matches below. Shal--"  
  
"COLETTE! Tú diabhal beag! Cád atá tú ag déanamh anseo? (You little devil. What are you doing here?)" A voice yelled cutting the gentleman off. Promptly, the door open and John stumbled in, beer bottle in hand.  
  
"Athair! (Father!)" His daughter cried rushing to his side to hold him up so he would not crumble to the ground. "Chuir máthair mé amach chun tú a aimsiú. (Mother sent me out to find you.)"  
  
"Mr Thompson," Mr Redding began, strolling over to them.  
  
"Who are you?" he slurred, leaning against Lettie so he could look at the man properly.  
  
"Mr Thompson, sir. I am an associate of your daughter's employer. We were trying to find you." The moustached man answered softly and kindly to the drunkard.  
  
John nodded, satisfied with his answer, and took a swig from his beer bottle. "Yeah, well we better be gettin' home, Lettie. Yer poor ol' mathair will be worried 'bout us."  
  
"Of course, father," Lettie agreed, guiding him out of the room and towards the stairs.  
  
"Please allow me to drop you home," Mr Redding offered, following them out of the room and down the stairs.  
  
  
  
"Oh no, it is quite alright, sir. We will be fine," Lettie said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. Immediately, she began guiding her tipsy father over to the exit.  
  
"I must insist, dear. It is freezing outside, you two will catch your deaths."  
  
"Where's you carriage then, eh?" John slurred as they stepped outside onto the mud and manure covered street.  
  
Lettie shivered as the cold hit her. She shushed her father. "No, we do not want to trouble you, sir."  
  
"Again, I must insist," he continued, catching her elbow to direct her over to a carriage. Even in the dark, Lettie could tell it was one of the posh ones from the city. Why did he leave it out here? He was asking for it to be robbed or at least vandalised. Then again, he ran the very streets they were standing on...  
  
  
  
Unlike the shabby Hansom cab herself and Timothy were in last week, this carriage was magnificent, and very obviously was not a public one. The walls were a lovely dark colour and the floors was made of some sort of dark wood. _Extraordinary._  
  
Out of curiosity, she gingerly felt the wall to her left. _What is this material?_ She pondered, completely awestruck at how soft it was. It was wonderful.  
  
She retracted her hand suddenly, resting the offending limb on her lap. _It looks expensive, I should not be touching it._  
  
  
"Please excuse him," Lettie apologised, side eyeing the man sat next to her. Her father was slumped against the right carriage wall, fast asleep. Snoring his drunken head off.  
  
Mr Redding, who was sat across from them, laughed lightly at this and shook his head. "No need to apologise, Miss Thompson. I am quite use to it."  
  
"I am sure you are, but I still sorry," she smiled, as she retrieved her small coin purse from her skirt pocket. "Please let me give you some money--"  
  
"No, my dear," he said softly, cutting her off. "That will not be necessary."  
  
"Please, I feel rude if I--"  
  
"And I feel rude if I charged you, my dear," he said cutting her off once again.  
  
Understanding his tone as a warning, she nodded silently and sat back in her seat, quietly putting her purse away. There was no reason to needlessly fight with him, especially considering how charitable he was being. "Of course, sir. My apologies."  
  
"Do not apologise, you have done nothing wrong."  
  
With another nod, she turned her head to look out the carriage window.  
  
  
  
_"Marie!"_ John slurred tumbling through the front door. Lettie, after thanking Mr Redding and once again offering him some money for his kind deed, followed him in.  
  
"Father!" she hissed, stepping into the house after him.  
  
"Shut up and close the door, Lettie," he snarled, collapsing into his chair.  
  
She did what she was told and hurried past him into the kitchen to locate her mother. Her assistance was desperately needed.  
  
  
To her surprise, as she entered the kitchen, she saw no sign of her mother or siblings preparing dinner. Speaking of which, she could not smell anything that would even hint at dinner preparations.  
  
_Where in God's name were they?_  
  
Calling out for her mother again, she checked the pots and pans on the stove to make sure nothing was still cooking. The last thing they needed was for their house to bring down. The last (and only) time the stove went on fire, she had barely got it out in time. It was not her fault, it was Ana. She had attempted to cook something for their mother. Thankfully, Marie was not home so she could dispose of the evidence and convince her sister not to tell their mother when she returned from the market.  
  
_"Colette! Come here immediately!"_  
  
Lettie stood up straight at the sound of her mother's yell. She turned away from the basket of vegetables she was looking in. "Mother!" She sounded so panicked. What was wrong?!  
  
"Upstairs! Now!" A another cry came.  
  
Lettie bolted out of the kitchen, through the living room, where her father was passed out on his chair, and up the stairs.  
  
  
As soon as her feet hit the second floor, she called out. "Where are you?"  
  
"In your bedroom." Came her mother's reply.  
  
Lettie stepped the few small places over to her bedroom door. Something was terribly wrong... _Please God, please, do not let there be anything horrible behind this door._  
  
Hesitating for a second, she opened the old creaky door to see her sister and mother huddled around the sunken double bed in the small room. Her mother was sat on the bedside, holding Ida's hand. They were looking at someone on the bed. Lettie could not see from here, but she has a good idea of who they were looking at.  
  
She felt her stomach turn.  
  
"Mother, what is happening?" she barely whispered.  
  
"Come here," her mother's equally strained voice replied.  
  
The increasingly panicking girl rushed to her mother's side, fearing the worst.  
  
"She looks scary, mama." Ida whispered, gripping Marie's hand.  
  
"I know, ma chèrie (My love)." Her mother responded, ushering her over to Lettie side.  
  
Ida hurried over to her sister sister's side. Lettie, once she was close enough, she grabbed her hand and brought her to her side, before daring herself to look at who Marie was tending to.  
  
She felt her stomach drop at the sight that lay before her.  
  
Her other sister, Ana, was laying in the bed, nestled between two pillows. Her little head was poking up from under the off white duvet.  
  
_Oh my good lord..._  
  
The little girl's skin was a sickly colour, somewhere between white and grey. Dare she say, almost translucent. She could see her veins. It was horrifying. The dark blue stood out alarmingly against her pale complexion.  
  
"Mother," Lettie whispered, watching Marie dab her youngest child's forehead with a damp cloth. "What happened?"  
  
"S--She just collapsed..." The older woman whispered in response, not turning to look at her. "I was making dinner a-and she just... Elle s'effondra sur le sol (she collapsed onto the floor.)"  
  
"Devrions-nous aller à l'hôpital? (Should we go to the hospital?)"  
  
"No money."  
  
"Mère, elle a l'air mortelle. (mother, she looks deathly.)"  
  
"I know."  
  
Ida tugged on Lettie's hand, trying to catch her attention.  
  
"Yes?" The brunette girl asked, looking down at her younger sister.  
  
"Ana's not well."  
  
"I know, sweetie. I can see that."  
  
"Help 'er."  
  
"I am trying to."  
  
With a nod, Ida let got of her hand and started to climb onto the bed.  
  
"Non! (No!) Get off!" Marie cried, preventing her from touching her sister. "You could get sick too!"  
  
The little brunette immediately jumped off the bed and ran to hide behind Lettie's skirt.  
  
"Mother, we must got to hospital!" Lettie protested, running a hand through Ida's hair to calm her. "Ana is ill!"  
  
Marie, placing the cloth down, turned to face them. Her face portrayed that of absolute despair. Much like Ana, she was pale and teary. "You can sleep in my bedroom tonight, I will stay here with Anabella."  
  
"And father?"  
  
She shrugged and turned back to the weak child. "He will sleep downstairs." Without uttering another word, she curled up on the bed beside Ana.


	4. Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologize for the extremely long hiatus but this year has been very busy for me. Nonetheless, please enough this chapter. It's not the best thing I've ever written but it's the best I can do at this moment. Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Also be aware there is sexual assault below.

Worry was a strange emotion. It turned your stomach whilst sending the most horrific chills down your spine as you uncontrollably thought about the person or event in question.   
  
Lettie despised it.   
  
In fact, she despised everything at this very moment. She despised the way she was stuck behind her little desk, and how she was getting severe neck pain from constantly looking down at her work, (which also happened to be beyond tedious).   
  
It also did not help that she was forced to go to work instead of nursing her sickly sister and helping her mother, both psychically and mentally. Yes, despite their squabbling, Lettie loved her mother very much and was willing to do almost anything for her, but the older female refused to have her or Ida at home for two obvious reasons; One, they could get infected, and two, they had to go to work to be able to pay the steep rent rate.   
  
Nevertheless, she still rather be home despite her mother's clever thinking.   
  
  
  
"Master?"   
  
"Hmm?" Timothy looked up from his newspaper to the meek girl sitting in the corner of the room.   
  
"M-My sister..." Lettie sputtered. She, until now, had not had the bravery to tell her employer that her sister was ill and, because of this, would not be able to do her work for the foreseeable future. It was not until she realised that it was nearing the latter part of the afternoon that she finally mustered up some quickly depleting courage to tell him. Though honestly, she was surprised he had not yet commented on her distressed demeanor considering he had gone on six patrols since work had commenced. You see, every time he left to go on his walks he would pass her on the way to the door, which gave him the opportunity to not so discreetly view her and her work as he left. (Not that she wanted his uncomfortable gaze on her at all but if he started the dreaded conversation it would be a lot easier on her.)  
  
"Pardon?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at her unintelligible splutter.  
  
"M-m-my s-sister," she stuttered, trying her best to hold back tears. Unfortunately, once she started crying, especially this heavily, it resulted in being on able to articulate what she wanted to say properly, (something she obviously wanted to avoid in such a pivotal moment like this). The very thought of Ana laying in their bed coughing and vomiting, like she had been doing this morning, made her well up and her stomach turn.   
  
"Your sister what?"   
  
"S-She's not well, I-I..." She stopped as a sob erupted violently from her. Uncontrollably, she doubled over and covered her mouth trying her best to silence herself.   
  
"Miss Thompson!" Timothy exclaimed, throwing his newspaper down on his desk whilst standing up. He hurried around his desk and over to the sobbing girl. "What is the matter?"   
  
Lettie, who had turned her back to him, covered her face with the palms of her hands to hide her tears. It was rather futile as he could clearly hear her pained sobs. "I-I."  
  
"Pardon?" He reached a hand forward and grasped one of her quivering shoulders. "Whatever is the matter?" he questioned once again as he turned the girl around.   
  
Lettie, with her head bowed and her face still covered, continued to uncontrollably sob. She tried desperately to stop, but every time she thought she had calmed down, another wave of tears washed down her face. "M-Master... I-I." She also had an awful tendency to stutter when crying. A habit which, at this moment, she was cursing.   
  
"Breathe," he ordered gently, watching the girl convulse. He kept his hand on her shoulder to steady her malnourished frame. "Calm yourself, I cannot understand you."   
  
The brunette, nodded solemnly and moved her palms from her face. She breathed in deeply and exhaled in a similar fashion. She proceeded to repeat this pattern a few more times. It was a laborious task. It took her several minutes to get her breathing back in order   
  
Regaining her breath and composure, Lettie raised her head, intending to finally get what she was trying to say out. But before she could even open her mouth, she just about saw Timothy stretching his arms out and around her. Stunned, she remained silent as he wrapped her in a hug. Immediately, he began to shush her softly.  
  
Beyond shocked, she relaxed into his embrace, listening to his gentle and soothing words. Her hands gripped the front of his waistcoat as her sobs fully subsided. She ignored the little voice in the back of her head telling her to push him away and exhaled slowly. Timothy, taking this as encouragement, began to run a hand up and down her back in an attempt to calm her further. Lettie screwed her eyes shut and pressed her head against his chest, enjoying the sensation. She could not remember the last time someone had let her cry on their shoulder, let alone hugged her. Well, she supposed her sisters did hug her sometimes, but that was usually just because they wanted something from her or someone to cry on after they get scolded by their mother.   
  
Frankly, she did not care that it was Timothy Crook comforting her. Normally the thought of him even shaking her hand disgusted her, but at this very moment, she desperately needed some attention and consoling. Anyways it was only a matter of time before she broke down from this neglect and exhaustion.   
  
"What has upset you so much, my dear?" He said softly.   
  
"My sister is ill," she whispered. Pressing her cheek against his chest harder, she waited silently for his impending onslaught.  
  
  
"What illness?" he whispered back after a few seconds.  
  
Lettie's eyes shot open.   
  
_No shouting? No yelling? No lashings?_  
  
"We are not certain, b-but she is coughing and vomiting. She is very pale." She responded cautiously.    
  
"That sounds serious."  
  
"It does? Mother said it would pass in a few days."   
  
"I could be wrong."   
  
"That is not my place to say, Master."   
  
"Why are you telling me this again?" he asked, pulling away from her quite suddenly.   
  
Lettie, almost losing her footing, placed a palm on her desk and looked at the man. "I just wanted to inform you she would be absent for a while."   
  
He nodded while retrieving a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. "here." He offered it to her, "use this to dry your eyes."   
  
"No, sir-"   
  
"Once again, Miss Thompson, please do not protest. It is very tiresome."   
  
Nodding meekly, she took the piece of cloth from him and dabbed her sore eyes. This would have been a perfectly acceptable thing to give her to stop her tears, why did he hug her? It was very inappropriate. It made her feel quite uncomfortable now that she thought about it.  
  
 _Do not let it happen again._   
  
"I assume she will not be getting her wages for the days she is absent?" Lettie asked, running the smooth cloth under her right eye.   
  
"No."   
  
She almost fell over when he said that. He was going to continue paying her? Was he feeling alright? He was aware of what he just said, correct?  
  
"You seem shocked? Why?" he asked, eyeing her astounded expression curiously.   
  
"I-I... uh...no reason, I just assumed," she spluttered, desperate to think of a logical reason.   
  
"Do you think I am cruel enough to not pay a weakling child?"  
  
 _Yes, I do._  
  
"Of course not, Master."  
  
He nodded, but she could tell he was not entirely convinced.   
  
"I-I think you are delightful, sir," she blurted a lie in an attempt to squash any sense of displeasure or suspicion he may be feeling. The last thing she needed was a lashing.   
  
He smiled brightly at this and began to walk back over to his desk. "Thank you."  
  
"You are very much welcome," she responded, sitting down on her own chair. How in God's name did she get away with that?   
  
"You are also quite charming, Miss Thompson."   
  
Her head shot up from where she was looking at her half-completed document, but all she saw was the front of a newspaper. She immediately dropped her gaze and returned to her work. There was no need furthering this conversation. Not that she wanted to anyways, she just wanted to go home   
  
  
  
Lettie shuddered as the office door slammed shut, she did not dare raise her head as Timothy crossed the room back over to his desk.   
  
On reaching it, he slammed a thick cane down on the polished wooden surface, huffing loudly. "Honestly!" he exclaimed, raising and slamming the came back down on the desk for the second time. "Imbeciles! Can they do anything right?!"   
  
It was a rhetorical question, and even if it was not, she would not dare answer it. Her backside had just healed fully last night from the previous week's lashing. She was not willing to reopen the wounds for being foolish.   
  
He fussed for a couple more minutes before settling behind his desk. "Why can they not be good little girls like you Miss Thompson? Everything would be so much easier," he muttered to himself under her breath.   
  
Another rhetorical she did not bother answering. Again, why reopen old wounds?   
  
"Well?"   
  
"Hmm?" she asked, looking across the room at the man who was eyeing her ideally. "Pardon, sir?"   
  
"Why can they not behave like you? So quiet and mannerly," he answered, resting back in his comfortable looking seat.   
  
"They are children, sir." What else could she say? What else did he expect? Children always seemed to have such spontaneous fits of energy, which she believed, was perfectly normal as she had grown up in that sort of atmosphere, she herself was once a rambunctious child. He could not blame them for being restless and, subsequently, mouthy. It was natural.   
  
Others, obviously, did not share her views. More than likely, this was due to the fact that they did not have a similar childhood. At all.   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"W-well children are always full of energy and curiosity."   
  
He huffed and frowned. The look on his face was priceless. Really? Was he that confused by five-year-olds? It really was not that bewildering?   
  
"I was not like those...whippersnappers when I was a child. I was brought up properly."   
  
_I doubt that._ She cocked an eyebrow at this thought. Good lord, she almost felt sorry for him. 'Almost' being the operative word there as she was the victim of his relentless teasing when they were children.   
  
"Surely you had...uh...childish outbursts?"   
  
He shook his head. "My mother and governess never allowed it."   
  
"Oh."   
  
"Get back to work, Miss Thompson," he ordered, cutting their conversation short.   
  
"Of course, sir," she nodded, returning her gaze to her work. She had quite clearly touched a nerve.   
  
  
  
"Bring this down to Thaddeus, will you, Miss Thompson?"   
  
"Of course, Master," Lettie responded, taking the folded piece of paper from him.  
  
"And take your time, I have a meeting."   
  
She nodded and exited the office swiftly, eager to be away from the clearly irritated man. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him and be punished. Also she could take this opportunity to stretch her legs and check on her sister.   
  
  
  
On climbing down the stairs to the third floor, she peeked her head around a wooden pillar to see her sister happily chatting with some other girls as they worked. Satisfied with this, she continued to clambered down the remaining there flights of stairs to the ground floor and made her way across the large area to the office that was tucked in the left corner beside the entrance.  
  
As she neared the office, she felt her stomach starting to turn. She was not clear why as usually she would just knock on the door and leave the documents outside, as this was requested by the elder brother. This decision benefited both of them as they did not have to communicate and were able to go about their day without duress. She placed a hand on her stomach and rubbed the area twice in a clockwise motion in an attempt to settle the sickening feeling within her. _My body's worrying about Ana. That is what it is._ It would not be the first time her body had reacted negatively to bad news, and she doubted it would be the last.   
  
"Sir?" she announced, knocking on the door as she always did. "I will leave the papers here." She went to bend down to place the note on the floor when she heard him reply.   
  
"No, please come here."   
  
Lettie stood up straight, her brain trying to register what he has just said. Enter? No, she must be hearing things.   
  
"Now, Miss Thompson."   
  
So she was not hearing things.   
  
"Of course, s-sir," she blurted, opening the door to see the blond man sat behind his desk.   
  
"Enter and close the door."   
  
She did just that and stood rather awkwardly in front of the closed door for a couple of seconds.   
  
"What do you want?"   
  
"Uh..I..." she stuttered, hurrying over to the desk and placing the piece of paper in front of him. "This is from-"   
  
"I know who it is from," he cut her off whilst unfolding the paper.   
  
_He was ruder than usual._  
  
Instead of saying that she nodded silently and, as she stood in front of him, watching him read through the note. She awaited his message.  
  
"That's fine," he mumbled, disposing of the paper.   
  
Taking this as her sign to go, Lettie turned and began to make her leave, eager to get back to work. The sooner she got back to the office, the sooner was could finish her a work and go home.   
  
"Did I say you could leave?"   
  
She stopped dead. "...no."  
  
"Exactly."   
  
She stood still, unsure of what to do. Had she forgotten something? Every other time (as rare as they were) she was permitted into his study to give him a note, she was told to leave immediately. What had happened this time? Had she handed him the paper the wrong way? Had she turned to leave too quickly? Or the opposite?   
  
Before she could question herself further, she heard domineering footsteps coming quickly towards her. Out of shock, she attempted to step forward but she was prevented from doing so by a looming figure.   
  
Thaddeus hurried up to her, stopping beside her as he locked the door with his left hand, while he placed the other on the small of her back.   
  
Lettie felt her blood run cold at his actions. _Something is terribly wrong. What have I done?_ Resisting the urge not to outwardly panic, she swallowed her uneasiness and slowly looked to the left to see what he was doing. Her gaze tentatively moved from the hand resting on the key to his face. He was smiling at her. And not in a kind way, in a predatorial way.   
  
"You look as if you are about to cry," he said in a tone she had neither heard anyone speak in before. It was deep and breathy. Very similar to Timothy's voice after he shouted at her to leave his office after beating her. Had he exerted himself somehow within the past two minutes? He had only walked the small distance from his desk to the door. Had that caused his excessive breathing? If so, he was seriously unhealthy.   
  
"I am merely confused on why I am here for longer than necessary, sir."   
  
"Do not be," he soothed, rubbing her back gently. "There is no reason to be frightened."   
  
Lettie barely heard what he was saying as she was more preoccupied with the uncomfortable sensation he was causing by stroking her back. Why was he doing that? Her back was not sore. Did he realise he was doing it?   
  
"Please, may I go. The other Mr Crook will be getting uneasy with my absence." She knew full well that he would not, but it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment.   
  
"He has a meeting. Trust me, he is not concerned about you."   
  
"Why did you lock the door?"   
  
"To stop those little urchins from entering."   
  
What? They would not dare enter. There was no need to lock the door. What was he on about?  
  
"Sir, please may I go. I have work to do."  
  
"No," he responded very angrily, "your whining is childish, stop it."   
  
"I-I'm sorry."  
  
"Good."  
  
This situation was making her feel increasingly more uncomfortable. The way he stared at her only furthered the sickening feeling in her stomach. "Is there something wrong, sir?" she asked, watching as he dropped his hand from the key to his side. Why else would she be here for so?...No, wait. Did Timothy ask him to punish her for him?   
  
_God please no._  
  
"Are you going to punish me for something? What have I done?" Now she truly did feel close to tears.  
  
"No, of course. I plan to do quite the opposite...well for myself that is."   
  
"Pardon?" she mumbled, stepping back as he stepped forward. Why was he acting so strange?   
  
Instead of responding, he moved towards her quickly. Lettie, in turn, automatically went for the key in the door. Unfortunately, she was only able to take two steps before she felt a considerable amount of weight slam into her. She hit the office door with a thud and a groan. Before her brain could even begin to comprehend what had just happened, she was swiftly turned over. Her back was against the sturdy door.  
  
"Sir, please, you're frightening me," the brunette gasped, regaining her senses. It was the only thing she could think to say to try stop whatever he was about to do. Maybe he just wanted to intimidate her. If so, it was working. Very well, might she add.  
  
"How old are you, Miss Thompson?"   
  
"S-Seventeen."   
  
He hummed at this, still eyeing her intently. "I was married at seventeen. Isn't that strange?"   
  
"I am not sure, sir," she replied, moving her gaze on the polished wooden floor and his shoes. She could no longer look at his face. It was far too close to hers.  
  
"It is peculiar to me because at your age, in my social class, you would be married by now and possibly have a child. But in your class you...you people copulate like rabbits and not get married despite your bastard children. It amazes me at how little you care about social appearance. I truly do envy underlings sometimes. You have so much freedom," he breathed.   
  
Lettie could feel the heat of his breath on here left cheek. She felt sick. "Yes, sir." Was all she could answer with as she had not listened to what he was saying. All she could hear was her heart beating loudly in her reddening ears.   
  
"Have you any children?"   
  
This caught her attention.   
  
She raised her gaze to his to see if he was attempting to be humorous. He was not. His expression was deadly serious.   
  
"Of course not," she said angrily. _How dare he say something like that?!_  
  
He nodded, quirking an eyebrow in shock at her blunt response. "I was not expecting that answer."   
  
She did not respond, but rather looked back at the floor.   
  
"You are pretty," he answered in a surprisingly calm tone, "I thought some fellow urchin in your area might have impregnated you."  
  
"N-No. I-I..."   
  
"Have you ever been intimate with-"   
  
"No." She cut him off, feeling her cheeks starting to warm up at, not only, his words but at his closeness. He was pressed up against her now, almost whispering into her ear. "This is very i-inappropriate, sir. Please move."   
  
He smirked at her uneasiness, watching her press herself against the wooden wall to create some space between them. "I want to leave _now_. Please."  
  
"Give me your hand."   
  
"N-No."   
  
"Why not? Are you afraid?"   
  
She nodded meekly, shifting her eyes to his in an instinctive attempt to level out the situation. "Please let me leave."   
  
"Give me your hand," he repeated more sharply.   
  
She went to refuse again when she felt his hands brush off herself. Immediately, she moved her hand away to prevent him from grabbing it as she thought that was what he was about to do. Unbeknownst to her, he was dropping his hand to do something else.   
  
Lettie's gaze drifted to his shoulder, her mind trying desperately to figure a way out. She already knew Timothy did not want her back to soon as he was having, what sounded like a very important meeting, so she could not use that as an excuse to leave. In fact, she could think of nothing as an excuse. The only conclusion she could come to was that something outside would have to happen to get him to stop.   
  
"Miss Thompson," he breathed heavily against her right ear.  
  
Her thoughts immediately stopped as a shiver of unexplained disgust ran down her spine. What was happening? Why was he breathing like that?  
  
"Give me your hand."   
  
"Sir, please, I want to go."   
  
He shushed her and kissed her cheek gently. "Relax."   
  
Lettie was gobsmacked. She stood frozen, shocked and repulsed at his actions. This was wrong. He should not be touching her like this.   
  
He chuckled darkly at her silent response and took the opportunity to grab her hand, he clutched it tightly to prevent her from pulling away. "If you do not do what I tell you to, I will sack you and your sisters and make sure no one will ever employ you again," he whispered into her ear threateningly.  
  
Lettie felt her heart drop into her churning stomach at this. She screwed her eyes shut to prevent the tears that were welling in the sides of her eyes. He could not do that, surely. "Please, no."   
  
He reached a hand out and brushed a few stray strands of her hair, that were obstructing the view of her face, out of his line of sight. "I heard your sister is very sickly."   
  
Rather than asking how he possibly found out, she nodded meekly, eager to not upset him.   
  
"How would you feel if I gave you some money to buy medicine for her or even to secure a doctor?"   
  
Her eyes flicked to his. "Really?"   
  
He nodded, "but there will be a payment necessary."   
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
"Good girl."  
  
"W-What do I have to do? I do not mind having to work more hours. You can take the amount off of my wage."  
  
"Oh no no, I having something less laborious for you to do."   
  
"Oh...I-"  
  
She was cut off by his lips pressing to hers. She pressed her free hand to his chest and tried to push him back. Unfortunately, due to her lack of strength the maneuver was a failure. Her merely knocked her hand aside and continued to assault on her mouth. The most strange noise escaped him. It sounded like a mix of a gasp and a growl. Disgusted, she cried out for help but, as he was putting immense pressure on her lips, it came out more like a squeak.  
  
"Shush," he muttered, moving back a bit to view her startled expression.   
  
"You cannot do that!" she whimpered, allowing her held back tears to flow as her mind whirled.  
  
"No, no," he cooed, cupping her cheek, "this is what you have to do to earn the money."   
  
"This is wrong! Only married people kiss," she sobbed innocently. That was all her mother had explained to her about marriages. Well that, and a warning not to have babies unless married. So unsurprisingly, this situation was completely bewildering to her. "Please, I just want to go!"   
  
"Relax," he soothed, kissing her forehead. "Once you've paid your debt, I will make sure the payment will be included in your weekly wage."   
  
Lettie shook her head, still sobbing hysterically. "No! This is wrong! Mother quill be angry with me!"  
  
"We do not have to tell her anything, now do we?" he whispered. "All you have to do is what I tell you to and then you can go. I promise."  
  
"W-What do I have to do?" she asked, looking at him. Her voice was shaky but curious.  
  
He smiled at her reply and re-gripped the hand he had pinned to her side. "I will show you." He brought her hand forward eagerly. Her fingers brushed of something scorching hot. On instinct, she recoiled and gasped through a sob, "what is that?!"  
  
"Never you mind, just touch it," he breathed against her forehead. "Or I will personally sack your sisters and get your father sacked. Would you like that?"   
  
"No," she whimpered, closing her eyes. _Just do what he tells you and then you can go. Do this for Ana._  
  
She breathed in deeply, but kept her eyes shut.  
  
 _I can do this._  
  
"Good girl," he whispered a praise in her ear as he guided her hand back onto his pulsating sex.   
  
Too afraid to ask what it was or why it made him breathe so heavily, she gripped it as instructed by him and resisted the urge to vomit as it throbbed needingly in her grasp. He swore under his breath and rested his forehead against hers. "Good, now just tug it a bit."   
  
"Tug it?"   
  
He huffed and gripped her hand again, guiding it up and down his member.   
  
Lettie followed suit, clamping her mouth shut to further suppress the bile rising in her throat. She had no choice other than to listen to him make strained noises as she moved her hand slowly. He sounded like you are in pain. "Are you in pain?" she asked curiously, but meekly.   
  
"Pardon?" he asked, through a breathy gasp.  
  
"Your...noises, i-it... You sound like you are in pain," she answered, feeling embarrassed now for asking. Was he in pain though? Or was it something else? Maybe she should just mind her own business and get whatever this was over with.   
  
"Quite the opposite, actually," he chuckled darkly against her neck. "Keep going. Your fingers are delightful."  
  
"I-I want to stop," she pleaded, becoming newly agitated. This was not right. Whatever she was doing was wrong. She may not know what it was but she definitely knew she should not be doing it. (The bad feeling in stomach kind of reminded her of the time her mother had caught her drinking her father's alcohol. Little to say, she was furious and grounded her. (Though of course at this moment Lettie had no idea this situation was a million times worse than that one).)  
  
"No," he growled, gripping her wrist, "you are not finished until I say you are. Am I understood?"   
  
She nodded meekly and resumed her stroking with his unneeded and unwanted aid. She turned her head for the side and tried go think about something else. Anything else.  
  
  
Thankfully, her suffering was not prolonged because barely two minutes later, he was spluttering curse words and groaning against the goose-bumped skin of her neck. She tried to twist her hand out of his tight grip, sensing this was her chance to run. But before she could pull away fully, something hot and wet hit her hand. _What was that?!_  
  
"Hold still," he hissed against her throat as he leaned on her for support.   
  
"Get off me!" she cried, pushing him back with a hard shove of her shaking hands. He fell back almost falling over.   
  
"You bitch!" He snarled, glaring at the meek girl, who was staring at the floor. Her whole body was shaking now.   
  
"I didn't mean to, sir!" she whimpered, keeping her frightened gaze down. She could feel her body shaking at an unnatural rate. All her senses were also unusually heightened. She could hear every sound outside: the loud machines' whine as the cogs turned within the metal compartment (and even the gentle tinging sound as the wire on the surface hit off each other), the thirty, or so, girls outside the office chatting softly, their footsteps on the stone floor as they moved around and finally Mr Crook's intense and loud breathing.   
  
She also suddenly became aware of the wet liquid on her hand and a disgusting smell. Gaining some courage, Lettie raised her face to see what was causing the uncomfortable sensation on the back of her hand. The liquid she found there was white and shiny. It sort of looked like milk. Was it? If so, where did it come from? Him? Again, if so, how? That could not be healthy. Was it discoloured flem? Ew.  
  
"Lick it."   
  
"Huh?" she muttered looking up to see her employer, dusting and smoothing down the expensive fabric of his waistcoat and trouser front.   
  
What did he mean, lick it? What was it?   
  
"Lick it, Miss Thompson," he breathed, approaching her quickly once again.   
  
Lettie, fearing what he was about to do, stumbled back, unintentionally whacking her back on the solid wood door behind her. She winced in pain and turned her face to the side as he pressed back into her.   
  
Immediately on contact, he kissed her lips feverishly and re-gripped her spoiled hand, by the wrist. "Lick it off your hand."  
  
"N-No," she cried, trying to wrench her hand out of his grip. "I don't want to!"  
  
"Do it!" he snarled, forcibly raising her hand to her lips. "Now, or I will beat your sisters to an inch of their lives!"  
  
Lettie let out a pained sob and shook her head. "P-Please let me go upstairs."   
  
"Open your mouth!"  
  
"No! Please, I-"   
  
A sharp slap from the blond man cut her off bluntly. "I swear to God if you do not lick it off your hand, I will bend you over that desk and ruin you for any other man."   
  
"I-I do not understand."   
  
"Open. Your. Mouth."  
  
"Please..."  
  
He exhaled sharply and gripped her jaw in such a way that it forced the hinges to part. "I will break your fucking arm if you do not lick it up."   
  
She winced in pain as his grip on her tighten. "Please, let me go."   
  
"You know what you have to do."   
  
"Please..."  
  
 _"Do it!"_ He growled, twisting her arm sharply, causing the limb to twist into an unfortunate angle. Lettie let out a cry of pain and naturally tried to pull away from him to stop the ungodly amount of pain. _He's broken my arm!_ It was a futile attempt as he just slammed her head against the hard wood door and brought her hand to her face again. Keeping her other arm twisted behind her. This time she could not move. She was trapped and disorientated.   
  
"Hurry now. I have a meeting soon." His tone had change from one of anger to a somewhat pleading one. He was once again breathy and his eyes were, or more accurately, his pupils were enlarged. She had only ever seen that look in her father's eyes when he was unimaginably drunk and furious. But, Thaddeus did not sound angry, quite the opposite actually. And he definitely was both drunk. He was calm, watching her as she tentatively brought her tongue out of her mouth. _If I do what he says I can leave. Ana will get help. I am doing this for Ana._  
  
"Good girl," he groaned, watching her closely.   
  
Lettie, ignoring the shiver of disgust that ran through her, and licked a small patch of the moist skin of her hand.  
  
 _"Eugh!"_  
  
She retracted her tongue and spat out the horrible tasting liquid that had attacked her poor taste buds.   
  
"No spitting!" he hissed, instinctively gripping her already twisted arm.   
  
"That is disgusting!" she cried, shaking her entire body in an attempt to forget that awful taste. It was like liquidated salt and sweat."That milk is disgusting!" she gagged.   
  
"That what-" He cut himself off as he stepped back, placing a hand over his heart. He then let out an almighty laugh.  "Milk!"  
  
Lettie frowned at this and shook her arm to life. What was he laughing at? It was awful. Why would he make her lick gone of milk? That can make you ill! Her cheeks began to turn red out of embarrassment as she watched the man laugh hysterically. _What a...a... bastard!_  
  
"May I please leave now?" She was not going to stand here and let this man ridicule her any further. Had he not harassed her enough? This was just cruel.  
  
"Yes, yes, go on!" he breathed, flicking his hand at the door. He had turned his attention away from her to his desk. "Just unlock the door and go."   
  
She did not need to be told twice. Before he had even reached his chair, she had turned the key in the door, flung the door open and practically ran out. Without, looking behind her she closed the door and hurried towards the staircase closest to her.   
  
As she ascended the stairs, she tried to forget what just happened whilst rubbing her sticky hand against her dress. J _ust forget about it, Lettie. He got what you wanted and, more importantly, Ana's going to get the help she needs._

  
  
"Miss Thompson!"   
  
Lettie jumped at the sound of her name and instinctively looked up to see her other employer stood on the floor above her. There was a look of confusion and slight agitation on his face. Feeling another gaze on her she turned her eyes to the right. She was correct. There was another man stood beside him. Well, she probably wouldn't even call him that. He looked barely older than her. And, more importantly, he wasn't very well dressed, which struck her as strange. He was dressed in an appropriate manner, having most components of a man's day attire but he hadn't the waistcoat and suit jacket (and the accessories which usually accompanied them). She never imagined a proper gentleman like Mr Crook conversing with such a commoner. What were they talking about? Was he an employee? Probably not because they only employed girls here. Maybe he worked at his home. Rich people always had maids and so on. Yes, that was probably it.   
  
"I will see you soon, Mr Hughes," Timothy said to the young man. "Get home safely and tell Mr Kaylock I said hello."   
  
"Of course, good day, Mr Crook," Mr Hughes practically beamed, quickly hurrying down the stairs past the meek girl. He had left the building before Lettie had even reached the level on which her boss stood, and that was only a dozen steps away.   
  
"You look startled, Miss Thompson." Timothy acknowledged, eyeing the suspiciously nervous girl who was steadily approaching him.   
  
"Excuse me, Master. I was just thinking," she excused herself as she stopped in front of him. Her eyes never met his though.   
  
"About that sister of yours?" His tone was surprisingly sympathetic. Was he feeling alright? Had he hit his head or something?  
  
"Yes."   
  
"Do not worry too much, you will become ill yourself."   
  
"Really?" She asked, looking at him for the first time. "Is that true?"   
  
"I believe so."   
  
"I do not want to be ill."   
  
"Good. Now come along," he ushered for her to follow him back to his office. "You have plenty of work to do."   
  
"Of course, Master."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd also like to say I haven't really been motivated to write this story at the moment but I have been recently writing another story some of you may enjoy. It's an Arkhamverse fanfic. I'm not saying its biblical but if you've got an interest in that sort of thing, feel free to have a peek.


End file.
